The sound faded, and what replaced it wasn’t silence.
It was knowing.
Not the kind you could explain. The kind that lived under your skin. That crawled up your spine when you heard something meant only for you, even if you couldn’t understand the words.
I didn’t need Cassian to tell me what that whisper had been.
It was history remembering itself.
And I was the thing it remembered.
Cassian turned, face carved in tension, blade still at the ready. “That wasn’t wind.”
“No,” I whispered, heart hammering. “It wasn’t.”
We stood in the center of the chamber, surrounded by glowing symbols and forgotten names, and still the air pulsed like it had a heartbeat. Mine answered it—faster. Louder.
I could barely breathe.
I turned away from the carvings and paced to the far wall, fists clenched
