Zach stood outside the workshop manager's office, hand raised to knock. The taskmaster was inside — he could hear the rustle of papers, the creak of a chair. He'd spent three days covering double shifts to keep the apprentices from crumbling under impossible quotas. But when the door swung open before he knocked, the taskmaster was holding a camera on a tripod, lens aimed directly at Zach's face. "Wondered when you'd make it official," the taskmaster said. Behind him, the Coral Castle's spiral towers twisted upward through workshop smoke and tinsel. On his desk sat a photo frame decorated with seashells — two boys in kindergarten, one in a red jacket, one in stripes. Zach recognized himself in the stripes. The taskmaster set the camera down and gestured at three folders on his desk. Each had an apprentice's name written in ink that matched Zach's handwriting from shift reports. "You think I don't know you've been running shadow coverage? I've counted every meal you skipped." He tapped the photo frame. "You always did this. Even back then." Zach's stomach dropped. The taskmaster had been letting him exhaust himself — had been counting on their old friendship to keep Zach from confronting him outright. And it had worked for three days. Zach met his eyes and said the thing he'd been afraid to say out loud. "Then you know I'm not stopping." The taskmaster's smile faded. Something between them cracked for good.