Aiden felt it before it surfaced.
He sat with the Clause That Wasn't at the edge of the Inkpond. They had spoken for hours—about possibilities, about boundaries, about what it meant to be between.
The Clause was learning.
It had chosen a face—shifting, featureless still, but slightly tilted toward Aiden's own, like a mirrored shadow echoing his breath.
Then Aiden's vision fractured.
A blink.
A ripple in his thoughts.
A red line across his memory.
He stood quickly.
"Elowen," he called. "We need to check the Vault."
It wasn't the Vault of Names.
Nor the Vault of Beginnings.
It was the deepest place, unnamed and unlit, sealed by a lock forged from negation itself. Jevan met them there, blade drawn—not to fight, but to cut through paradox, should one rise.
They reached the chamber's threshold.
The seal had split.
Not broken.
Unwritten.
As if it had never been placed.
Aiden stepped in.
The Addendum was waiting.
