Chapter 56.
The shift from the damp cellar to the carriage was a blur of rough hands and the metallic tang of more suppression drugs. By the time the wheels stopped rattling against the cobblestones of the southern estate, Rhiannon’s head felt heavy, but the neon-green pulse she had buried in the earth remained- a steady, rhythmic anchor hummed deep in her. Gorgon’s fortress was a jagged tooth of obsidian and marble, rising from the valley like a monument to excess. If the Nightshade Keep was a mountain of stone and honor, this place was a suffocating labyrinth of velvet, incense, and rot. Rhiannon was hauled through corridors lined with weeping statues and gold-leafed mirrors. Every room was cluttered with trophies- rare pelts, stolen relics, and cages that looked far too much like her own. It w
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