“The Lock of Lament,” Io said, finally turning. Her gaze fell on the key, and for the first time, something flickered across her face. Hunger. “You stole it from the Sunken Vault.”
She turned back to the window, the key glinting in her palm. And somewhere deep in the penthouse, behind a gilded frame and a painted lie, a lock began to tremble. mistreci io
Io stepped closer. The air grew thick, smelling of rain and old roses. She took the key, her fingers brushing his. Her touch was cold, but not unkind. “The Lock of Lament,” Io said, finally turning
“Mistreci Io,” he whispered, the archaic title feeling like broken glass in his throat. “You stole it from the Sunken Vault
“Regret,” he said quietly. “You told me once. Everyone has a door of regret. Yours is just… locked from the outside.”