"It's not working!" I cried out, pressing my palm harder against the ancient symbols. "Nothing's happening!"
The tension in the air thickened as Damian stalked toward me, his movements fluid and predatory. He grabbed my wrist, squeezing until I winced.
"You're either incompetent or deliberately stalling," he snarled. "Neither will end well for you."
I yanked my arm away, heart hammering against my ribs. "I'm trying! This isn't exactly something I've had time to practice."
My eyes darted to Regina and Ronan's unconscious forms, still held by Damian's soldiers. Their lives hung by a thread—a thread that was fraying with each passing second of Damian's impatience.
The circular door towered before us, massive and unyielding. Its surface was etched with symbols that pulsed faintly, as if alive with ancient magic. Beside it stood a small pedestal with an intricate puzzle of shifting patterns.