The symbol on Lucian's hand throbbed faintly, no brighter than a thought. Yet he could feel it with every heartbeat, as if his body had gained a new pulse, tuned to some ancient rhythm.
Outside the safehouse, the wind clawed at the shutters. Rain spat sideways across the cragged hill. The stone foundations creaked. Inside, the hearth was unlit. No one wanted fire. No one wanted warmth.
Corvina sat beside the table, her fingers brushing the memory-stone like she could tease more words from it. "She knew they'd come for her," she said, voice hollow. "This... all of this was her way of buying time. Not just for herself. For you."
Lucian stood at the window, arms folded, body rigid. He hadn't moved in over an hour.
Alice, restless, finally stood. "We can't sit here. Not after that. Not after what we saw."
Lucian spoke without turning. "We're not the same anymore. That place changed us."
