Page 119 of Demon’s Snack

“That is not a name.”

“It is enough.”

I draw myself upright. “No, it is not. Under audit protocol, any accusation of ledger breach against the principal analyst requires neutral witness oversight before confinement or seizure.”

A guard reaches for the case nearest him.

I slap my hand flat on top of it.

He freezes, startled more by my audacity than any physical force.

I lift my voice, shaping it to carry into the corridor. “Audit breach protocol is invoked. Neutral witness required. Lady Syrenya Vaelith is present within the estate district and qualifies by rank and non-house affiliation. I call Lady Syrenya by name.”

Senreth’s face goes a dangerous shade of pale.

The ward sigils in the corridor react to the formal invocation, flaring gold over red. For one brief, beautiful moment, the house’s own legal structure answers me before Vaerith can.

Then the air turns cold.

Vaerith appears in the doorway behind the guards, and the sigils bend toward him like grass under a blade.

“How thorough you are,” he says.

The guards step aside quickly.

I keep my hand on the case. “Audit breach protocol requires a neutral witness.”

“Yes.”

“Lady Syrenya is named.”

“Yes.”

“Then confinement before witness arrival violates your own estate law.”

Vaerith’s eyes move over the desk, the cases, my ink-stained fingers. His expression is mild, almost regretful, which means he is about to do something unforgivable and would prefer it to look tasteful.

“Estate law bends under emergency containment,” he says.

“There is no emergency.”

“You are the emergency.”

The ward sigils flare white.

Pressure slams through the room, invisible and absolute, forcing my hand away from the case and pinning my arms to my sides. The guards surge forward before the legal echo of my invocation fully fades. One takes the ledger satchel from my chair. Another seizes the case on the desk. A third grips my upper arm through the ward pressure and turns me toward the door.

I let them.

The real evidence is already gone.

Vaerith notices my lack of resistance, and his eyes narrow.

“Search everything,” he tells Senreth. “Ledger shelves, baseboards, garment hems, lamp wells, false bottoms, ash bins. Remove all copied material.”

“Yes, my lord.”

I allow myself one small look at the case the guard carries. Routine maintenance authorizations on top. Hidden proof beneath, but not the whole proof. Never the whole proof. If they find it, they will think they stopped me. If they fail, Kairven gets his teeth in the financial trail.