Nathan and I crouched on the marble floor of the council chamber, sheets of parchment spread between us. The chalk sigils looked faint under the lamplight, but when I pressed the paper over them and rubbed with charcoal, the shapes leapt out bold and black. A circle broken by hooked slashes. Angled lines that made my stomach twist the longer I stared. Nathan studied the rubbings with the concentration of a soldier scanning a battlefield. To me it felt like looking at a language that wasn’t meant for conscious eyes.
An assistant, Mira, lingered near the doorway, her arms locked tight around her waist. When I caught her gaze she flinched, then said in a rush, “I’ve seen those before. Out by the service road. Carved into trees. I thought it was just old graffiti.”
Nathan straightened, eyes
