Marking the path Isaac had pointed out in her smaller book, Arabella made sure to inscribe every line, curve, and turning point no matter how faint or insignificant it seemed. The parchment beneath her hand was rough and brittle with age, smelling faintly of dust and iron. She could feel the pulse of old magic lingering beneath the ink, like veins of something alive, something that had been buried but never forgotten.
She wasn't certain what secrets—or dangers—might be waiting in those invisible halls. But one thing she knew with a cold certainty in which she could not afford to make a mistake. She could not afford to endanger Isaac's life instead of her own and knowing Morpheus, it wouldn't be a stretch for him to hurt Isaac just to make her become more obedient to all his demands.
