The air in the Ossuary tasted of calcium dust and stagnant time.
It was a thick, cloying atmosphere that coated the back of the throat, tasting faintly of metal and dried marrow.
Zane stumbled, his heavy boots catching on the uneven floor of the tunnel.
Without the buoyancy of his Essence to counter the Dead Weight trait, his own body felt like a prison of lead. Every step required a conscious, agonizing effort to lift his knees.
He leaned heavily against the wall, his hand brushing against the cold, smooth curve of a human femur embedded in the mortar.
"Keep moving," Wren hissed from the darkness ahead.
Her voice trembled, lacking its usual sharp authority. She was guiding Rin, holding the boy’s hand so tight her knuckles were likely white.
"I'm trying," Zane rasped.
His ches
