The chamber had grown warmer, not from a crackling fire or a shift in the stale air, but from the simple gathering of weary men and women sharing food, laughter, and stories.
The once-ominous stone walls felt less hostile as their voices filled the silence.
Torches hissed softly, their flames dancing against the shadows like flickering memories.
In the center of it all was Ethan, mid-rant and mid-joke, waving half a biscuit in his hand as if it were a dramatic prop.
"Honestly," he exclaimed with mock seriousness, "these archaeologists don't know how lucky they are!"
He gestured dramatically toward Adrian, Mireille, Josef, and the others scribbling notes with feverish intensity.
"They sit there munching their bread while I'm over here watching for death swinging from the ceiling! If they make it out alive, they'd better treat me to dinner!"
Lyra smirked as she adjusted her braid and brushed dirt off her shoulder. "You'd still complain about the food."
