The Chamber seals behind me with a sound I feel in my teeth.
Not a slam.
Not a click.
A lock.
Rhea jerks in my arms the moment the runes settle—her body too hot, too rigid, too wrong. Her heat burns through my shirt like she’s made of molten metal instead of flesh. I lower us to the moonstone floor, bracing her back against my chest, trying to anchor her with my weight.
Her breath fractures on every exhale.
“Sunshine,” I whisper against her temple, “stay with me. Don’t drift.”
She doesn’t answer.
She can’t.
Her pulse thrashes beneath my hand like something wild trying to claw its way out of her skin. Sweat slicks her neck. Her nails dig into my forearm—not consciously, not with any awareness—just raw instinct and pain.
The Chamber reacts immediately.
The walls ripple—silver sig
