Claire's hand trembled just slightly as she turned the rusted handle.
The heavy door groaned open, revealing a cavernous chamber lit by flickering torches set into rough stone walls. The air was thick with incense and something metallic—like blood and rust mixed.
Mara and Rowan stepped inside, their footsteps echoing in the hollow space.
In the center stood a massive altar, carved from black granite, stained with dark, dried patches.
Around it, dozens of figures knelt, masked and silent, their robes blending into the shadows.
At the far end, a wall of glass panels contained hundreds of small, glowing vessels—each pulsing with a faint heartbeat-like rhythm.
Mara's breath caught.
"What… are those?" she whispered.
Claire smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"They are the offerings," she said softly. "The pain and grief we collect—the burden of loss given form."
Rowan's eyes darted to a nearby console wired with tubes and archaic mechanisms that hummed quietly.
"Some kind of… machine?" he asked.
Claire nodded. "A crucible. A sanctuary. A reclaimer."
Mara's gaze fell on a large figure strapped to a chair beside the altar.
Her heart stopped.
The figure's face was pale but unmistakable.
It was the woman who had called Mara weeks ago—the whistleblower, Danica Wyatt.
Her eyes fluttered open slowly.
"Mara," Danica whispered hoarsely. "You have to stop them… before the Cleaners become the cleaned."
Suddenly, alarms blared. Torches flared higher.
The masked figures rose, turning slowly toward them.
Claire's voice echoed, cold and commanding:
"Welcome to the final chapter."