VANESSA'S POV
The ring was a cold, malevolent circle in my palm, its crescent moon sigil feeling less like a symbol and more like a brand. I clutched it, the metal biting into my skin, a tiny anchor of defiance in the crushing darkness. The cultist's startled cry and the finality of the bolt sliding home had faded, leaving only the hum of the selenite and the frantic drum of my own heart.
Time lost all meaning. There was only the waiting. The slow, agonizing crawl towards a fate I refused to accept. I sat on the cold floor, my back against the damp wall, and did the only thing I could. I breathed. I reached for the lessons Nolan had hammered into me, not to summon power, but to find a center of calm within the hurricane of my fear.
In. Out. Slow. Steady.
I focused on the ring in my han
