Aria’s POV
The Warden woke us.
Not with words. With weight.
Middle of the night. The ground shifted under my blanket, slow, like a giant turning in its sleep. The ward-stone at the quarry pulsed red once, then white. Not alarm. Adjustment.
I was on my feet before I knew I was moving. The pack was already up. Blades out, but not raised. Listening.
The pulse came through the stone, deep and heavy.
One stirs.
Not awake. Rolling.
Deep still. Held still.
Ridah didn’t ask questions. “North tunnel. Now.”
We ran. Not like we used to run — teeth bared, Debt at our heels. This was different. This was answering.
The north tunnel was warm. Too warm. The mint circle had wilted, edges black like they’d been scorched. The stone in the center was cracked. Not broken. Split, like a seed
