They kept their promise and swung wide of the caravan's route. By the second day the disputed country had turned into a maze of low limestone ridges, dry gullies, and the occasional sinkhole that exhaled colder air than the surface.
Local markers—old, weathered, and deliberately sparse—warned travelers away from a particular cluster of hills.
Selene reined in beside one of the markers and leaned down for a closer look. The script was older than the empire's usual road signs, the lines cut deep and angular. "Pre-empire again. Same hand as the gate carvings. Whoever left these wasn't interested in polite conversation."
Aiden swung down from the saddle and crouched beside a wider crack in the ground. Cool air rose from it, carrying a faint metallic scent that made the back of his throat itch. "Something's down there. And it's been sealed on purpose. Smell that? Like old coins and wet stone."
"Cheerful. You always know how to sell a place."
