bChapter /bb180 /b

Eryx POV

The corridor ahead of us stretches into darkness, and it swallows the weak light that flickers where the candle hangs on the stone walls. My fathers word to bring her home settle into silence behind me. He’s so steady, and sure, yet every single step that I take forward feels anything but certain.

This ce doesn’t feel like somewhere life exists, it feels like a grave that was carved from stone. I keep moving though, I have no choice but to.

The pull in my chest is still faint, but it’s constant, a reminder that she’s here, and close by. It’s like it’s the lingering trace of a dream that refuses to fade entirely after you wake. I trust it, I have no choice but to trust it. Every step forward feels weird, and it makes the thread between us feel sharper and more distinct. It’s not warmer though. There’s a coldness to it.

It’s not a good feeling, the sensation of the thread grows colder the further I go, like I’m walking directly into something that doesn’t want to be found. She has to though, she needs to be found and saved.

5

My father stays close behind me, his footsteps are almost silent in this space. I can feel the weight of his presence though, it’s like a shadow that is pressing between my shoulder des. He doesn’t speak now, not one of us does. There’s no need, he trusts me to lead and for once, that terrifies me more than anything.

The guards begin to fan out behind us, they are silent silhouettes against the stone walls. I watch as they move with practiced discipline, their weapons are drawn, but they keep low. Their eyes scan every corner of the passage for any signs of movement, that never seems toe.

Shifting into our wolves would help, but it’s not practical in such a short space.

The sound of the guards boots against the stone is too soft, it’s as if they’re reluctant to disturb the silence that seems to be suffocating this ce.

My mother walks near the rear of the group, her magic spreads out and then around us like a veil, brushing along the walls. It seeps into the cracks and the worn edges of the stone, reaching for something I know she can’t find. If there were life nearby, any life, she would feel it. But the air here is hollow. Empty in a way that feels deliberate.

I can hear her breathing behind me, steady and measured, but her silence carries a weight I can’t ignore. Even she’s beginning to doubt.

“I don’t believe that this is a deni,/ii” /ione of the guards whispers from the rear, his voice so quiet I almost miss it. “Not even rogues use ces like this.”

He’s not wrong, what he says is true. It’s a fact, this isn’t a shelter. It’s not a ce built for survival, it feels like a ce that is meant to bury secrets. I hate how much sense that makes because it means this could be a trap./

Still, I push forward.

“She’s here,” I say softly, though the words feel thinner than before. “I can feel her.” I know that I can, I just don’t understand why he woulde here with her, unless he thought it would protect him?

My father doesn’t argue. He only nods once, drawing a little closer to me as we reach a junction where the tunnel splits into three narrow passages. Without hesitation, I take the path to the left, driven by the fragile tug in my chest that keeps pulling me forward, and the others fall in behind me.

“Send them out,” he murmurs to my mother. “Sweep the outer tunnels.”

I get it, he wants to ensure no ione /ies up behind us from the other tunnels.

I feel my mothers magic shift, it’s subtle, a pulse that ripples through the air. The guards begin to response to bthe /bunspokenmandb, /bband /bbmove /bawa from us in pairs. They vanish down the other corridors. I watch them disappear like shadows fading into mist. Their footsteps fade bquickly/bb, /bswallowed the oppressive stillness that settles deeper the further we move into the stone.

Now it’s just us. Me. My father. My mother. We’re now alone in a silence bso /babsolute bit /bfeels like sound itself has been buried.

As we move deeper, the air seems to be worse. The damp shifts and it bes thicker, fouler, it’s too heavy, band /bhas ba /bfaint btrace /bbof /bbold /bbiron /bband /bbrot /btwisted into it. The walls here glisten faintly from the darkness. They are slick with condensation or maybe bloodb, /bbnot /bbthat /bI bwant /bbto /bbept /bbor /bbconsider /b

that.

b15:09 /bbTue/bb, /bb22 /bbJul /bbPG /bG

Rnd didn’t leave her somewhere clean. He wanted her to suffer in darkness, in damp in the worst possible ce ever.

“He wouldn’t abandon her,” I whisper, more to myself than to anyone else.

“Then where the hell is he?” my father’s voice is quiet, but there’s steel beneath it. “Because this ce wasn’t chosen by ident.”

He’s not wrong, and I know this might be a trap, but I can feel her here.

My magic begins to stir restlessly beneath my skin. I light to hold it stready, I can’t let it burn out now. Not when the thread is pulling me forwardb, /bbthat’s /ball I have left, so I have to keep hold of it. She’s here, I know that she is. I can feel it, somewhere ahead, somewhere buried deep in this stone. She’s waiting for me. The question is, whether she’s waiting by choice or because she can’t do anything else, and I don’t know which one bit /bis.

“She’s close,” I say again, though the words feel thinner now.

“We know,” my father answers grimly. “Your eyes have begun changing.

I nce back and catch the look on his face. He believes me, he’s also though prepared for the worse.

My mother pushes her magic forward again and it stretches out, brushing over the walls like it’s searching. I can tell by the stiffness in her shoulders that she’s finding nothing. Whatever Rnd did, or whatever barrier or spell heid down here, it’s keeping my mother from sensing April.

It means one thing, he didn’t bring her here on a whim, he brought her here with a n and as a ce that he knew he could hide her.

My stomach twists. He’s preparing to kill her. I know it.

“Slow,” my father warns suddenly, one hand rising as we approach another narrow bend in the passage. I obey, pressing myself against the stone wall as we inch forward carefully. My knife is already drawn, my knuckles white around the hilt.

For a moment, there’s nothing. Then there’s movement. It’s not a sound, or even a shape, it’s more a shift in the air. It’s subtle enough to make the hair on the back of my neck rise.

My father senses it too and he signals silently for us to move, we do, we move together, ours steps measured and our breath shallow.

We turn the corner, and find nothing.

This makes no sense, it’s an empty corridors that just stretches ahead of us. It’s darker than before.

The stone walls smeared with old filth. The air thicker now, choked with the stench of something that’s rotted for far too long. There’s no footsteps, no guards, no prisoners, no one at all.

No Rnd.

“Where is he?” my father murmurs.

-hate that this time, I don’t have an answer. bI /bcan’t waste time on Rnd though, I keep moving, this time slower, but I don’t stop. The thread in my chest tugs me onward, pulling tighter, more painful, like it knows how close I am, like it’s trying to warn me of what I’ll find if I keep going.

I don’t care.

Wha

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