The hum does not stop when we reach the dungeon corridor, and instead it deepens into something layered and resonant, as though stone and air and blood are vibrating along the same frequency and none of them are entirely separate anymore.
The orb is no longer steady.
The crack that had split its surface glows brighter with each pulse, and fine fractures spider outward in branching lines that stretch across the glass like lightning trapped in crystal.
Axel moves in front of me instinctively, but he does not block my view, and Atticus stays close enough that his shoulder brushes mine as if proximity alone can anchor what is about to happen.
Lucian stands within his cell and watches with unsettling calm, and for once he does not speak because whatever is happening is no longer a performan
