We went down that same night. The old woman had said soon, and after the news from Ashwood, soon meant now.
The five of us, my three and Darius, followed Lucien down through the archive, deeper than I’d known the mountain went. Stairs cut by hands three hundred years dead. Lamplight sliding over stone. The air got old as we went, old and still, like the inside of a kept promise.
And then the door.
It was smaller than I’d imagined and heavier than anything I’d ever stood in front of. Black iron, cold coming off it like a river in the dark. Three wolves carved deep, sitting in a circle, sharing one moon. And under them, worn almost smooth, the line Lucien had traced out with charcoal weeks ago.
Sealed until she asks with her own hand.
“How do I ask?” I whispered.
“With your own hand, p
