Lucian does not hesitate when he says it.
“The next lunar convergence is in three nights.”
The words settle into the dungeon like a stone dropped into still water, and the hum beneath the floor shifts in response as if the land itself recognizes the timeline before we do.
“Three,” Axel repeats evenly.
“Not weeks,” Lucian continues calmly. “Not months. Three nights.”
The tether beneath my ribs tightens once, not in panic but in awareness, and I feel the bond between Axel and Atticus pulse in mirrored recognition.
“Why that window,” Atticus asks.
“Because convergence amplifies ignition, resonance, and alignment simultaneously,” Lucian replies, and his tone carries no theatrical weight now, only precision. “Completion is easiest when the current is already rising.”
“And if she refuses
