"You're unusually quiet," Beckett said, his voice echoing down the cold, narrow tunnel as he glanced over his shoulder.
Celeste didn't reply immediately. Her hands brushed the moss-lined walls, fingertips glowing faintly with runes only she could read. "Something down here remembers. That's what worries me," she finally muttered.
Beckett lifted the torch higher. The passage curved deeper beneath the estate, where old roots weaved through stone like veins under skin. It wasn't the first time they'd descended into these depths, but it was the first time the vault door had opened without resistance.
And that wasn't a good sign.
Behind them, Camille moved like a shadow, silent, drawn, her eyes too wide. She wasn't meant to come, but she'd insisted, practically begged, and something in her desperation had silenced even Celeste.
"It's reacting," Camille whispered, stopping in her tracks. Her hand flew to her belly. "It's… pulsing."
Beckett turned. "What?"
