The elevator just kept going. It didn’t stop — it sped up, dropping deeper and deeper into the mountain’s dark gut. Maya’s stomach floated somewhere above her ribs. The air got thick, hot, heavy. Everything smelled like old iron and seawater.
“Let us out!” Julian yelled. He slammed his shoulder against the thick glass tube where the old man sat. THUD. The glass didn’t budge. Julian stumbled back, rubbing his arm. “Maya, don’t look at his eyes. He’s trying to get inside your head!”
But Maya couldn’t look away. Her grandfather, Arthur Rossi, sat there in the blue liquid, perched like a king on his throne. Gold light burned in his eyes, throwing wild shadows across the walls. He stared straight at her. Something cold and crawling slithered under her skin.
“Julian, stop,” Maya whispered. He
