Nila lifted the heavy oak lid of the archive chest, her fingers catching on the rough iron latch. The small library wing at the back of the fortress was quiet, far removed from the constant clatter of the main kitchens where the omegas were already roasting the winter squash for the feast. The table before her was piled high with old leather-bound family records and lineage scrolls that Evelyn had asked her to organize before the evening line-up.

She reached inside, her hands lifting a stack of thick vellum pages tied with faded red twine. As she set them down, the rhythmic, heavy sound of boots echoed from the short...