The passage was a claustrophobic nightmare of damp stone and creeping darkness, the air thick with the stench of decay and the frantic skittering of unseen things. Caelan pulled her along, his grip on her arm a constant, unyielding pressure. The flame in his hand cast long, dancing shadows that made the rough-hewn walls seem to writhe and pulse like living tissue.
"It's just a little further," he said, his voice a low, confident murmur. "The Vault of Whispers is just ahead."
"Whispers...?" Emily asked, her throat tight with fear.
"The scroll is protected by a... resonance," he explained, his tone a little too casual for her liking. "A psychic echo. The ghosts of everyone who's ever tried to steal it. They don't like visitors. They tend to... get loud."
"The ghosts of the others?"
