The entrance lay where the city ended and concrete transitioned into glassy layers—as if someone had poured a lake of solidified light over the rubble. No gate, no sign; just a crack in the surface, narrow as a breath. Rhea knelt before it and ran the back of her hand over the edge, as if checking the temperature.
"It's awake," she murmured.
"It?" Alaric asked.
"The field. Or whatever beneath it pretends to be dead."
Lina stood a step behind, hands at her sides. Since the night when Sabine's voice had illuminated within her, the air around her felt thicker, like water in the depths. Every breath was deliberate. Every heartbeat carried digits she couldn't read, only feel.
"We're going in," she said, her voice sounding calmer than she felt.
