Bastien understood what she meant. The chamber had felt like a judgment when he’d stood here alone. Every surface watching, every reflection waiting to reveal some truth he didn’t want to face. Now, with Delphine examining the altar crest with open curiosity instead of fear, the space felt more like what Charlotte had probably intended—a place of ritual, of choice, of transformation undertaken deliberately.
“Where only B. would think to look,” he murmured, reading Charlotte’s instruction again from the schematic. “She knew I’d come here eventually. Knew Gideon would force the issue.”
“So where would you think to look?” Delphine moved around the altar, studying its surfaces with the same attention she brought to archival documents. “If you were trying to hide something from everyone except one specific person, where would you put it?”
Bastien considered the question properly. Not where would Charlotte hide something. Where would she hide something that only he would find. The distinction mattered.
“Somewhere personal,” he said slowly. “Somewhere that required understanding our relationship. Our history.”
Delphine stopped her circuit of the altar and looked at him directly. “Where did you first work together? Where did you first love her?”
The question hit him sideways. Not because it was inappropriate—Delphine had earned the right to ask about his past with Charlotte without flinching. But because the answer was so obvious once she’d framed it that way.
“Here,” he said. “This altar. This chamber. She brought me down here the first time we attempted to anchor the network. We stood on opposite sides of the crest, our hands on the glyphs, trying to balance celestial and mortal resonance.” The memory surfaced with perfect clarity. “That was the moment I realized I would love her in every lifetime. When the frequencies synchronized and I felt what she’d been trying to build. The sheer ambition of it. The care. The hope that connection could exist without control.”
Delphine moved to the altar crest and crouched beside it. “Then let’s look at this more carefully.”
They examined the crest together. The metalwork was intricate—silver inlaid with gold, forming patterns thatrepresented the network’s structure. Celestial glyphs on one side, mortal on the other. The design incorporated the broken circle symbol that marked all of Charlotte’s master keys, but here it was subtle. Barely visible unless you knew what to look for.
“If I press the celestial glyph,” Bastien said, tracing the symbol with one finger, “and you press the mortal glyph at the same time?—”
“It requires both of us,” Delphine finished. “Like the original ritual. Like everything she built.”
They positioned themselves on opposite sides of the altar, hands hovering over the glyphs. The metal felt warm under Bastien’s palm, responding to his frequency. He could feel Delphine’s resonance through the network, silver light pulsing in steady rhythm.
“Together,” he said.
They pressed simultaneously. The crest lit up—gold and silver meeting in the center, mixing into white light that flared bright enough to make Bastien’s eyes water. The metal shifted under his hand. Not breaking or bending but opening. A mechanism releasing, ancient and precise.
The altar crest split down the middle. Beneath it, a sealed chamber. Small, lined with lead to block magical sensing. Inside: a leather journal, architectural drawings rolled and tied with ribbon, and a small mirror with the broken circle symbol etched into its frame.
Bastien’s hands shook as he lifted the journal. Charlotte’s handwriting covered the first page—neat, precise, the script of someone who’d learned penmanship when it still mattered.
Delphine read over his shoulder, her flashlight providing steady illumination. The journal contained everything. Charlotte’s complete design philosophy. Every component explained in detail. The way each node required mutual consentto activate. The safeguards she’d built to prevent exactly the kind of corruption Gideon had attempted.
And the counter-broadcast tool. Instructions written in Charlotte’s careful hand.
Use truth against lies. Use choice against compulsion.
The final entry about the mirror network.
If you’re reading this, someone corrupted what we built. Here’s how to reclaim it.
She’d known. Had anticipated this exact scenario. Had left them the tools they needed, hidden in the one place only Bastien would think to look, accessible only with both their frequencies working in concert.
Delphine unrolled the architectural drawings. The complete network spread across the paper—every node marked, every connection mapped, every activation requirement annotated. Gideon’s sermon lattice overlaid on Charlotte’s original design in red ink, showing exactly where the corruption had taken hold.
“She built defenses against this,” Delphine said, tracing the paths Charlotte had marked in her careful script. “Look. Every time Gideon tried to override a node, the network created a bypass. Preserved the original function while letting the corrupted version run parallel.”
“She was protecting future soul bonds,” Bastien realized. “Not just ours. Anyone who came after. Anyone who needed the network to preserve connection without enforcing it.”
The broken circle mirror sat in his palm, surprisingly heavy for its size. The glass was perfect—no distortions, no flaws. When he held it up, it showed his reflection clearly. Not the absence the tunnel mirrors displayed, but his actual face. Tired, worried, but present.
“This is the counter-broadcast tool,” he said. “Activated at the convergence point during Gideon’s sermon. It requires three elements.” He read from Charlotte’s instructions. “Truth spokenwillingly. Celestial resonance to anchor the frequency. And physical presence at the altar.”
Delphine took the mirror from him and held it at arm’s length. The glass showed her reflection perfectly. Then she handed it back to Bastien. The glass went dark—showing nothing, the same absence as the tunnel mirrors.
“Both of us,” she said, understanding immediately.
