#Chapter 160: Separation

The Mooncut felt heavier in my hands than it had the night I tore it from the gala display. It wasn’t just the weight of alloy and crystal. It was the memory sealed inside it, the shimmer of light through smoke, the copper tang of blood as it spilled across my palm, the sound of gasps through the crowd, and the raw pressure of Richard’s hand anchoring me in place when I had nearly collapsed. My fingerprints were still visible on the inner edge of the handle, smeared faintly through the dried blood. I hadn’t cleaned them off because I didn’t want to forget what it had cost me to hold it. The evidence vault beneath the west wing was colder than I remembered. I moved through its gates without speaking, past two posted guards who stiffened instinctively as I passed. They didn’t ask what I carried, and they didn’t need to, because my scent carried more than enough story to shut down any speculation. I logged the Mooncut under code red asset protocol, placing it in the core chamber’s c