The light breathed. At first it was just a hint—a tremor in the stone, a barely audible humming in the lines beneath my feet. Then it beat like a second heart, responding to my own, laying itself over it, shifting the rhythm. The symbols on the walls flickered, as if they weren't glowing but waking up.
"Don't touch it," Alaric said sharply as my fingers grazed the edge of the metal chair.
"She must," his mother replied calmly. Her gaze lingered on me, as if assessing whether I could endure or would break. "Either she touches the Origin—or the Origin will devour her on its own."
"You're talking like she's a tool."
"I'm talking like someone who knows how the Ring consumes things." Her tone remained matter-of-fact, but something dull slid into her eyes. "Or have you forgotten that?"
I felt Alaric's hand tighten on my elbow. "I haven't forgotten anything."
"Then don't forget this now: She is not a cage for your guilt."
