The stone hallway shuddered, groaning like a living thing. Dust and bits of mortar rained from the ceiling. Lucian Black didn't flinch. He moved forward, a slow, deliberate pace that belied the storm of power coiling just under his skin. The air around him wavered, the very space bending, making the green-tinged ward-lights on the walls flicker and dance.
He'd cut a path through the Thorne estate, a straight line drawn in broken bodies and shattered architecture. He didn't enjoy it. It was a chore. A necessity. The only thing that mattered was the pull in his chest, the silent, screaming knowledge that his team was somewhere below, in the dark. Reia, Silas, Vyn. Their auras felt like guttering candles in the vast, oppressive dark of this place.
Ahead, the corridor opened into a wider antechamber, a crossroads of sorts before the final descent to the vaults. And there, a figure stood waiting.
