Darian didn’t wait for the dust to settle.
The ward shattered, and with it, the last barrier between him and the lower ruins. Stone groaned and gave way, opening a ragged maw into the dark.
Cold air rushed up to meet him, carrying the smell of old blood and something older—like a grave that had never been sealed right.
Kieran grabbed at his coat. “Darian, wait—”
“Let go.”
He dropped.
The fall was short but brutal. He hit a lower ledge hard enough to knock the breath out of him, skidding on loose stone until his fingers caught on a jagged edge. Pain flared through his arm, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.
Below him, the dark moved.
“Aria!”
His voice echoed down the shaft, swallowed by the vastness. For a second there was nothing. Then—
“Darian?”
Her voice. Weak, but real.
