The hum beneath the dungeon floor does not disappear, but it stabilizes into a low contained vibration once the three of us remain in contact, and the pressure that had threatened to fracture outward instead settles into something deliberate and watchful.
Axel’s hand remains firm at the back of my neck, and Atticus’s palm stays steady against my spine, and the bond between us feels altered in a way that is no longer simply emotional but structural, like a circuit that has just completed itself for the first time.
Lucian studies us carefully from behind the bars, and his stillness carries calculation rather than fear.
“You assume the seal is singular,” he says quietly, and his voice cuts cleanly through the heavy air of the dungeon, “and you assume it rests entirely beneath the land.”
A
