Venus ran the numbers a third time, watching the angles lock into place with the same terrible certainty. The twelfth constellation sat directly over Toleen, confirmed beyond question, and the specific location it marked was deep inside the eastern quarter — the part of the city she couldn't reach without walking past Kieran's door. She packed her grandmother's star chart first, then the confirmation records. The numbers didn't change when she wanted them to. They never did. That was the whole point of her method — no room for hope or fear to bend the results. She'd spent two years avoiding Toleen, telling herself the partial confirmations mattered more, that she could circle back later. But the site sat behind a row of townhomes that leaned into each other like old friends, all glowing lanterns and moss-covered stone, and Kieran's door was the only way through. Venus closed her bag and checked the travel schedule. She would tell Kieran she was passing through. She would not mention the constellation. She would knock once, say what needed saying, and keep moving before anything else could take root. But when she arrived in Toleen three days later, the townhomes weren't arranged the way the city records showed. The eastern quarter had been rebuilt after a fire, and the row she'd planned to slip through now ended at a tall blue tower with brass fittings and more windows than seemed structurally sound. The path she needed was gated off behind it. Private property. Venus stood at the base of the tower and looked up at the warm light spilling from the third floor, where she knew Kieran lived. The constellation site was a ten minute walk past that gate. She could leave and find another way in, spend a week asking questions she didn't want to answer. Or she could climb those steps and ask for help. Venus put her hand on the door. The orb in her bag pulsed once, a soft reminder of what she'd confirmed. Eleven constellations documented, their secrets unlocked and recorded. The twelfth was right there, waiting behind a gate and a conversation she'd spent two years rehearsing in her head. Venus pulled her hand back and checked her notes again, looking for an error she knew wasn't there. The confirmation was solid. The location was exact. And Kieran was home — Venus could see her shadow moving past the third floor window. She picked up her bag and started up the steps before she could change her mind.

Venus stepped inside and set her bag down by the door. The flowers were still in Kieran's hand, vibrant and impossible, and Venus couldn't look at them without remembering the last time they'd sat across from each other. Kieran moved to the window and gestured outside. "There's a gathering circle in the courtyard behind the building," she said. "Stone platform, brass fixtures. It projects constellations when you activate it. I thought we could use it to check your confirmation." Venus followed her gaze and saw it through the glass — a wide platform ringed with carved pillars, gears set into the edges, light pooling at the center. It was exactly the kind of tool she would have built herself if she'd had the resources. Kieran had known she was coming. Had prepared for it. Venus felt something crack open in her chest, and she didn't know if it was relief or terror. She turned back to Kieran. "I can't afford to disappoint you," Venus said, the words coming out harder than she meant them. "If I let you help and it doesn't work, if I lose time or focus or—" Kieran set the flowers down on the table and crossed the room. "You think I'm here because I need you to succeed?" she asked. Her voice was quiet but steady. "I'm here because you showed up. That's enough." Venus looked at her and felt the rehearsed walls crack further. She'd spent two years preparing for this moment, and none of it had prepared her for the simple fact that Kieran wasn't asking her to be anything other than what she was. Venus picked up her bag again. "The site is past the gate," she said. "Ten minutes. If we're doing this, we start now." Kieran grabbed a coat and led her down the back stairs to the courtyard. The gathering circle was already humming with low light, its mechanisms turning in slow rhythm. Venus pulled out her grandmother's star chart and laid it on the platform. The projection flickered to life above them, stars spreading across the air in precise formation. Kieran stood beside her, close enough that Venus could feel the warmth of her shoulder. Together they checked the angles, ran the numbers backward, confirmed what Venus already knew. The twelfth constellation was real. And for the first time in two years, Venus wasn't working alone. She looked at Kieran and felt the weight shift — not gone, but shared. "Okay," Venus said quietly. "Let's see what's behind that gate." Kieran reached for Venus's hand and pressed something small into her palm. A bracelet, worn leather cord strung with tiny planet charms. One of them had been replaced with a heart. Venus had given it to Kieran three years ago, back when everything felt possible. She'd forgotten about it until now. "I kept it," Kieran said simply. "Just in case you came back." Venus closed her fingers around the bracelet and felt something inside her settle. Not the fear leaving, but the certainty arriving — she couldn't do this work alone anymore, and she didn't have to. She slipped the bracelet into her pocket and shouldered her bag. The constellation site was waiting. And this time, when she walked toward it, Kieran would be beside her.

They walked through the eastern quarter together, following the coordinates Venus had marked three weeks ago. The streets were narrower here than she remembered, lined with scaffolding and half-built storefronts. Kieran kept pace beside her without asking questions, and Venus found herself grateful for the silence. Then they turned the corner and Venus stopped. A command tent stood directly over the constellation site, purple canvas stretched across brass poles, observation deck rising above it. Workers moved around the perimeter with drills and pickaxes, tearing into the ground in precise rows. Venus pulled out her grandmother's chart and checked the coordinates twice. The excavation sat exactly where the twelfth constellation should be. She watched a drill punch through stone and felt something cold settle in her chest. Whatever had been there was already gone, or about to be. Kieran touched her shoulder. "We can ask them to stop," she said quietly. Venus looked at the tent, at the workers, at the careful grid they were following. Someone else knew this site mattered. Someone else had found it first. She folded the chart and put it away. "No," Venus said. "We find out who sent them." Venus walked toward the nearest worker, a woman operating a massive drill automaton encrusted with crystalline dust. Red light pulsed from the ground where its arm punched through the earth, scattering fragments that caught the afternoon sun. Venus held up her hand. "What are you digging for?" The worker cut the engine and wiped her face. "Foundation survey. City planning sent us out three days ago." Venus felt her stomach drop. "Did they tell you what they were looking for?" The worker shrugged. "They never do. Just gave us a grid and told us to go deep." Venus looked at the fractured ground, at the red light bleeding from the cracks. She knelt and picked up one of the fragments. It was warm in her palm, etched with markings she recognized from her grandmother's notes. Star chart notation. Elven script. The constellation hadn't been destroyed. It had been here all along, buried deep enough that no one would find it by accident. Someone had known exactly where to dig. Venus stood and pocketed the fragment. She looked at Kieran. "The twelfth site isn't gone," she said. "It's under them. And whoever ordered this dig knows what it is." Kieran stepped closer to the excavation edge and pointed at the scattered shards glowing faintly in the dirt. "If they knew what was here, why tear it up?" Venus turned the fragment over in her hand, feeling its warmth spread through her fingers. The answer settled in her chest like a weight. "Because they want to destroy it before I can confirm it." She looked at the workers, at their methodical grid, at the way they were following coordinates that matched her grandmother's chart almost perfectly. This wasn't random construction. This was deliberate erasure. And whoever ordered it had access to the same knowledge her grandmother had spent her life protecting. Venus tucked the fragment into her bag and met Kieran's eyes. "We need to get under that tent tonight," she said. "Before they dig any deeper." For the first time since arriving in this city, Venus wasn't running from what scared her. She was running toward it, and she wasn't alone.