Page 83 of Redline Communion

Communion witness: Marcus Deering. Sponsor: Cassian Vale.

Beneath Cassian’s name, in ink that looks far too calm, is mine.

My right hand closes around nothing.

For half a second, there is pressure against my fingers and warmth over the back of my hand, someone else’s grip folding mine shut around something I cannot see. The dining room disappears beneath the smell of oil and iron, and a flash of certainty moves through me so hard my stomach turns.

I’m about to reach the end of something.

Then it’s gone.

I’m standing in the dining room again, holding a page that says Marcus was there.

I don’t remember Marcus being there.

I look up.

Cassian is already watching me.

Whatever he sees on my face makes him close his eyes.

I turn the page again.

Travel authorizations. Medical clearance. A blank section labeled FINAL PLACEMENT.

The Offering was not the destination.

It was qualification.

The ritual, the flower, the witnesses and chanting, the folder closing after Rafe and Cassian signed — all of it was paperwork for whatever comes next.

I close the folder.

Nobody tries to take it from me now, which is how bad the room has gotten.

Alistair watches me with disappointment in his face, not because I found the file but because I found it before he wanted me to.

“You were going to send me somewhere.”

“No.”

“Bullshit.”

“The branch sequence is not relocation.”

“Then explain it.”

“You are not ready.”

I throw the folder.

Not at him.

I wish I could say that was restraint, but mostly I don’t want him touching anything I touched.

It hits the table hard enough to knock Nico’s glass sideways, and red wine runs through the scattered pages, bleeding across names, arrows, and dates.

Nobody moves to save them.