The ruins didn’t collapse.
That was the first thing Aria noticed when she woke.
Stone dust still hung thick in the air, and the chamber smelled of scorched iron and old blood, but the ceiling held. The walls held. The ground under her wasn’t shifting, wasn’t trying to swallow her whole. For the first time since she’d fallen into the lower ruins, the world felt still.
Her head throbbed. Every muscle felt like it had been wrung out and left in the sun. The bond between her and Darian was quiet now—no pain, no panic, just a steady, warm presence at the edge of her mind.
“Stop staring,” she muttered without opening her eyes. “It’s creepy.”
Darian’s laugh was low, relieved. “You’re awake. I was starting to think you’d just decide to sleep through the apocalypse.”
Aria forced her eyes open
