The South Grotto didn't just receive guests; it swallowed them. As the massive, salt-crusted obsidian sea-gates of St. Jude's Key groaned open, the Aura led the way, a silent scout for the much larger, reinforced transport vessel that trailed in its wake. The air inside the cavern was cool and pressurized, smelling of wet stone, high-grade coolant, and the faint, ozone-heavy scent of the island's geothermal heart.
I stood in the stern of the Aura, my hand still tingling from the last squeeze Adrian had given it before he assumed the mantle of the Mastermind once more. He stood at the helm, his back straight, his eyes fixed on the docking bay where a small assembly of ghosts was waiting.
