The room felt colder when we stepped away. Not from the outside air—this was the kind of cold that curled under your ribs and whispered you weren't supposed to be here.
Alvin tapped the glyph again with a small copper stylus, muttering. "Yeah, that's a triple-spiral resonance lock. These aren't just decorative. They're directive. They respond."
"To what?" I asked.
He tilted his head. "The real question is—to whom?"
Julian glanced at me, but I could already feel the answer forming behind my ribs. I didn't like it. I didn't want it.
Cassian called from down a narrow hallway that sloped at a downward angle into partial shadow. "There's something back here."
Jake peered into the dark, his flashlight beam cutting through the dust like a scalpel. "Is it going to eat us, or just whisper threatening poetry?"
Cassian didn't look up. "Remains of an old server node. Power dead, but the core housing's intact. Bring Alvin."
