The hand mirror cracked again.
Not a hairline fracture—a jagged split that ran from the top left corner to the bottom right. Grey light leaked through, thin as smoke, but darker than before. The presence inside was agitated.
Ryan grabbed the mirror. "What's happening?"
Thorne wheeled over, her face pale. "The presence is trying to break free. The seal isn't holding."
"Why not?"
"It's not fighting the seal. It's trying to reach something."
Ryan looked at Mira. The baby's silver eyes were glowing again—softly, not like the presence's harsh light. But there was a connection. A thread.
"The presence is calling to her," Ryan said.
"No. It's calling to you."
---
The old man stirred.
"The presence knew your grandmother. It knew the Architect. It knows the anchor bloodline. It's not try
