The vault’s heavy door thudded shut behind Elizabeth and her companions, sealing them back into the twilight of Ironholt’s abandoned corridors. The Crown of Echoes was safely locked away once more but the echoes it had awakened still haunted Elizabeth’s mind.
She pressed forward, torchlight flickering against an ancient stone. Every step she took seemed heavier now, burdened with the weight of what she had seen, of what she had chosen. The others followed close: Elias, Talia, Marcus, and Rowan, each of them quiet, each lost in their own uneasy thoughts.
“We need to get back to camp,” Elizabeth said at last, her voice low but firm. “Before someone else decides to poke around this place.”
Marcus nodded. “And before that storm breaks.”
He glanced toward the narrow window slits carved high
