I look at him. He's scanning the ruins like he's reading a report that doesn't match the data. Expecting noise, maybe. People working.
Instead, there's just quiet.
A man emerges from behind a half-collapsed wall, dust coating his work clothes. He looks tired in a way that goes deeper than a long day. More like a long month of days that didn't go right.
When he sees Thane, his shoulders sag with relief.
"Finally," he says. "Thought you weren't coming back."
Thane's expression tightens. "Progress report?"
The man laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Progress. Sure." He waves a hand at the ruins. "We try every day. Doesn't stick. Every night it goes back."
"Goes back?" Stellan asks, like he's only mildly curious.
"Stones we move end up where we found them. Walls we shore up fall down again. Tools disappear, then show up exactly where we left them yesterday morning." The worker shakes his head. "Place has a memory, and it doesn't want us here."
Thane frowns like this is personally offensive to him. "That's not—"
But I'm not listening anymore. Something's pulling at me from deeper in the ruins. Not scary pulling. More like... like when you hear your name called from another room and you go to see who it was.
My feet start moving before I decide to walk.
"Bree." Thane's voice, sharp enough to cut.
I should stop. Should explain. Should do something other than wander off toward broken stone and empty spaces.
Instead, I keep walking.
The mist follows, but not like usual—no restless swirl. It knows where it's going.
There's an archway ahead—tall enough that I'd have to stretch to touch the top, carved with symbols that make my eyes water if I look too long. The stone is pale, almost white, and somehow it feels warm even though the day isn't.
My hand reaches out. Just to touch. Just to see if it feels as warm as it looks.
The moment my fingers brush the stone, light blooms under my palm.
Not harsh. Not sudden. Just... there. Like someone lit a candle behind frosted glass. Silver lines trace patterns in the rock, and the mist around my legs moves toward them like it's been invited.
Something low hums through the stone, like a memory remembering itself.
"Bree?" Jace's voice, closer than I thought he was. "What's that?"
I don't know how to answer. Because I'm not doing anything. Not on purpose.
But the light is spreading anyway.
It seeps into cracks in the stone, follows the edges of broken tiles, pools in spaces where things should connect but don't. And wherever it goes, things start... settling.
Vines that were choking the archway loosen up, winding around the stone in patterns that actually look pretty instead of destructive. The cracked tiles under my feet do this little pulse—barely there, like a heartbeat—and suddenly they fit together again.
A path clears in front of me. Not like someone swept it clean, but like someone pulled back a curtain to show what was always there.
"Is she doing that?" Jace whispers.
"Looks like it," Wes says, and there's something in his voice I can't identify.
I take a step forward because the path is there and it feels rude not to use it. The stone glows softly where my foot touches, not like a spotlight but more like moonlight on water.
