The air inside the stone chamber grew so suffocatingly dense that even the sound of every labored breath could be heard. Everyone's spirit was stretched taut, like a string on the verge of snapping.
Serein forced her legs to remain firm, refusing to let them bend or retreat. Her teeth bit hard into the inside of her cheek, pressing down the fear surging within. She had chosen this path. If fate had decreed that she must face it again, then she would end everything—here and now.
The sharp, metallic rhythm of armored footsteps slowed, each step heavy and deliberate.
"Get ready," Zane murmured.
A gauntleted hand, black and rusted, clamped onto the edge of the stone doorway. Jennifer gasped, stepping back instinctively. Mark dropped hard onto the cold stone floor; his camera slipped from his trembling, sweat-slicked hands.
"Not yet," Zane whispered lower still—his voice barely more than breath.
