"Welcome to hell," Aurora said with a grin that was too real for this place.
Atlas returned the smile—but it was false. So false that his lips twitched from the effort. His face cracked with the expression, like he'd forgotten how to do it properly. Inside, everything was shaking.
The heat scratched against his skin—not quite burning, not quite ignorable. Like sandpaper against a nerve. There was no flame, no fire licking at his boots. Just this gnawing warmth that crawled under his skin and whispered, You don't belong here, but you will.
He followed Aurora's stride, her steps unnaturally light on the fleshlike terrain. Veil slithered behind them, saying nothing. And that's when Atlas heard it.
{{{{{Welcome home.}}}}}
It wasn't spoken aloud. It rang within his ribcage like a cathedral bell. A whisper not in his ears but in his bones.
