The iron door near the ruins was open.
My breath caught.
No guards. No chains. Just thick, ancient air spilling out like the exhale of something that had been holding it in for centuries. It felt cold, damp and alive.
I should’ve turned back.
Instead, I stepped forward.
The torch sconces lining the outer corridor had long since been extinguished. I summoned a weak flame from a wall lantern and held it aloft, the shadows around me stretching and curling like fingers around my ankles.
Each step down the stone stairwell echoed louder than the last. My heartbeat tried to outpace my feet.
At the bottom, the air thickened, wrong, like mold mixed with blood and forgotten grief. The scent clung to my throat. My skin itched. The bond mark on my neck throbbed once, then again, like a second h
