He moves then, kneeling slightly to examine my leg. His fingers hover just above the gold tracings, not touching at first, as though assessing something I cannot see.
“The weaver did good work,” he says. “The structure is intact. There is no damage that will impair movement.”
His hand lifts, and light gathers there, soft and controlled. He lets it pass slowly over the markings, the glow sinking into my skin in a way that is both warm and unfamiliar. “This will ease the residual pain,” he adds. “Though it may not remove it entirely.”
The warmth lingers even after his hand lowers. “You must take care of yourself,” he says, straightening. “Avoid unnecessary strain. Avoid danger.”
He looks at me more directly then, something pointed in the way he holds my attention.
I frown slightly. “I have not exactly been seeking it out.”
He does not respond to that.
Aunt Jularin steps in before I can press further. “Thank you, Hyverin,” she says smoothly, already guiding him toward the door. “You have been most helpful.”
He inclines his head once and leaves without another word. The door closes behind him.
Jularin does not speak immediately. She moves further into the room instead, her attention shifting, taking in the space in a way that feels deliberate. Her gaze travels the walls, the windows, the ceiling of glass above us, as though confirming something.
Then she turns back to me. “The escape hatch,” she says, as though I should already know it exists.
I blink. “The what?”
She does not answer. Instead, she lifts her hand, and something in the air changes, subtle but unmistakable. Light moves across the floor, gathering in a slow circle at the center of the room. The stone shifts, separating along lines that were not visible before, until a round opening forms where there had been nothing.
I stare at it.
“Do not tell Petunis I showed you this,” Jularin says.
I look at her. “Why would there be an escape hatch in a place like this?”
“Because places like this are the ones that require them,” she replies.
She steps toward it. “Come.”
“I am in a nightgown.”
“That will not matter.”
I hesitate, then I follow. The air changes as we descend, the warmth of the room fading behind us. Narrow steps curve downward, leading into something darker, quieter. At the bottom, the space opens just enough to form a small landing, the walls close, the ceiling low.
It feels like a threshold. Like it leads somewhere beyond this place. I take one more step and something shifts. Jularin’s hand lifts again, and I feel it this time, the magic settling around us, enclosing the space in a way that cuts it off from everything above.
I freeze.
My body reacts before my thoughts can catch up, tension pulling through me as I turn toward her, every instinct sharpening at once.
She sees it.
“I am not here to hurt you,” she says.
I do not relax.
“Then why are we down here?”
“Because you need to understand something,” she replies, her voice quieter now, stripped of the composure she carried upstairs. “This place is not what it appears to be. And what I am about to tell you could put you in danger if the wrong person learns you have it.”
My eyes shift toward the opening above us, now sealed. “You are asking me to trust you.”
