"…then I'd let the Root have their chance."
The words lingered in my mind as I pushed the heavy oak door inward with my shoulder, Yuri's weight balanced in my arms.
The hinges groaned softly—too softly for a door leading down into a dungeon—but then again, this was a noble's private villa, not a fortress.
Even the shadows felt apologetic.
A breath of cold air slipped up from below, brushing against my face like the exhale of some hibernating creature.
Damp stone, old iron, a hint of mildew—nothing foul, merely the natural smell of neglect.
The torches along the stairway flickered, though no draft should have reached them.
I tightened my grip on her.
Her head rested against my upper chest, her hair draping warm against my collarbone.
