Lysander emerged from the hidden panel at the fourth hour of the night.
The passage had taken three and a half days to ascend — faster than the descent because he knew the traps, knew which wall to walk along, which wire to step over, which floor would tilt. His legs ached. His shoulders ached. His eyes ached from the constant attention of stone that tried to kill him in seven different ways.
But he was alive. And he was carrying something that no living person had seen.
He closed the panel behind him. Priam's breathing was shallow, steady — the rhythm of a man whose body was shutting down one function at a time but whose will refused to follow.
Lysander crossed the room. He knelt beside the bed. He took his father's hand.
Priam's fingers twitched. His eyes opened — clouded, tired, but present.
"You came back," Priam whispered.
"I came back."
"Did you find it."
"Yes."
