The vault doors moved with the slow weight of stone that had not been disturbed in years.
Cassian reached them first and drove both hands against the narrowing gap, but the doors did not slow. Their inner edges had been carved with rows of moon-script, and as they closed, each symbol brightened in sequence, pale silver light running down the stone like frost spreading across glass.
“Help me,” he said.
Zinnia joined him, bracing her uninjured shoulder against the door. The surface was warm beneath her palms, warmer than the tunnels outside, and the steady pressure pushing back against them felt less mechanical than deliberate. The vault was not simply closing. It was choosing to seal them inside.
Lysa slipped through the gap just before it became too narrow and shoved from the other sid
