"So do you."
"Do I?" There’s so much pain in those two words that my throat tightens. "What life is there for a monster, little witch?"
"The same life there is for anyone." I reach up and catch his suspended hand, pressing his palm against my cheek. "The life you choose to make."
His thumb brushes across my skin, the gesture achingly gentle for hands that could crush stone. "You don’t know what you’re offering."
"I know exactly what I’m offering." I meet his burning gaze without flinching. "The question is whether you’re brave enough to accept it."
Something flickers in his expression—hope, maybe. Or fear. His hand trembles against my cheek, and I realize he’s just as terrified as I am.
Good. Fear means it matters.
"Rhea—"
Whatever he was going to say is cut off by the sound of stone grinding against stone. The library walls begin to shift, passages rearranging themselves with deliberate intent.
"The abbey moves again," I whisper.
"Aye." Krath’s hand drops from my face, but he doesn’t step away. "Something drives it. Something with purpose."
The grinding grows louder, more urgent. Dust rains from the ceiling as the very foundations of the library reshape themselves.
"We need to leave," he continues. "Find higher ground before?—"
A new passage opens in the far wall with a sound of breaking stone. Beyond it lies a staircase carved from living rock, spiraling upward into darkness.
The tower.
The knowledge comes unbidden, certain as sunrise. The stairs lead to the bell that hangs in the shattered tower. The bell that calls for blood.
"It’s time," I say.
Krath nods grimly. "The final choice approaches."
We gather what supplies we can from the ruined library—chalk, candles, what few intact texts might prove useful. But as we prepare to climb those ominous stairs, I feel the weight of what’s coming.
One of us will bleed for the bell.
One of us will pay the price of freedom.
But maybe—just maybe—we can find a way to pay it together.
The thought is dangerous, reckless, probably impossible.
Perfect.
As we step into the passage and begin our ascent toward whatever waits in the tower, I hold onto that thought. That hope.
That the choice, when it comes, might not be the one either of us expects.
SIX
RHEA
The spiral staircase winds upward into darkness, each step echoing in the narrow space. The ancient presence from the library follows us—not directly, but I feel its attention pressing against my thoughts. Weighing. Measuring. Waiting.
Such determination, little scholar. Such fire. But fire can be snuffed so easily.
