The door didn’t open.
Not yet.
But it pulsed. Like it was breathing. Like it was listening.
And Aelira felt it every time her heart beat—each thrum echoing in her chest, each breath syncing closer and closer to something ancient and caged and entirely hers.
The camp was silent.
Raze stood watch with his blades unsheathed, refusing to blink. Vess had drawn symbols in salt and ash around their tents, whispering prayers to gods none of them had ever dared name. Cain hadn’t spoken since sunset.
But Astren…
He was pacing again.
Not from fear.
From fury.
“You’re not going back there,” he snapped when she got too close to the edge again.
“It’s not your call,” Aelira answered, voice low, controlled. Too calm. Like she knew something he didn’t.
His jaw clenched. “That thing—your double,
