21. ARIS VALE

1068 Words

Magnus doesn’t tell me where we’re going. He just keeps hold of my hand—warm, steady, grounding—and leads me down a corridor I haven’t seen yet. The Waystation caravan is large but purposeful. No wasted space. Every door, every turn feels chosen, not decorative. I follow. Because he asked. Because his fingers are laced with mine like this is normal. Like my pulse hasn’t been misbehaving since the moment he said he wanted to show me something. The hall curves. Stone underfoot hums faintly with warding sigils, low and constant. Light spills through narrow high windows, soft and filtered. The air shifts—less spice and bread, more leather, ink, old paper. I slow without meaning to. Magnus notices. The corner of his mouth lifts. “Wait for it.” He pushes the double doors open. I forget

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