The storm outside the Iron Spires had not broken, but the howling gale of the North Atlantic felt entirely different now—less like a prison gate and more like a cleansing wind sweeping away centuries of decay.
Bella stepped out onto the shattered stone threshold, the heavy leather-bound master ledger clutched securely against her side. The children walked just ahead of her, their small boots crunching rhythmically over the frozen gravel.
Noah was holding Ava’s hand tightly, his earlier fear replaced by a quiet, wide-eyed wonder as he looked up at the clearing sky, where a narrow slice of pale blue was finally beginning to fracture the heavy gray clouds.
Ethan brought up the rear, his rifle slung over his shoulder, his eyes scanning the perimeter one last time before giving a sharp nod.
