Rhys's small army of Vindicators had been left behind, a final, disposable barrier to buy them time. He could feel their connections being snuffed out one by one as the horde outside overwhelmed them.
He held Emma's hand, his grip firm.
"Stay close," he said, his voice a low whisper that was loud in the dead quiet.
The inside of the castle was a maze of crumbling corridors and vast, empty halls. Moonlight streamed in through high, shattered windows, illuminating thick cobwebs that hung like funeral shrouds and piles of rubble that blocked their path.
The silence was unnerving. They were in the lair of the puppet master, yet there were no undeads, no traps, only dust and decay.
"The crypts are below the main hall," Emma whispered, her voice trembling slightly.
"That way." She pointed down a wide, dark staircase that led deeper into the earth.
