Her mind snagged on the memory of a locket split with light and dark, of runes that made her skin feel like it was listening. She didn't know why it felt familiar; she only knew it did.
"You targeted me," she said. "It wasn't random."
He finally looked up at her. The mask gave away nothing, but she felt watched—measured like an ingredient, weighed for balance.
"You will conserve your strength," he said. "The chamber reacts to struggle. Resist, and you will be drained. A simple equation."
"You expect me to… sit?"
"If you wish to survive the preparation."
The bubble thrummed when he stepped closer. Aranea fought the instinct to back away. She held his invisible gaze with stubborn, reckless pride because fear was an animal that grew when you fed it. She had learned, the hard way, to starve it instead.
"What do you want me for?" she asked. "Say it plainly."
