“Tell him yourself.”
I slipped through before he could stop me, and the passage closed with nothing more than a whisper.
The chamber disappeared behind me, and so did the sounds of Keegan and Gideon prying open the wall.
I was alone.
The corridor ahead curved downward through darkness, though faint silver moss clung to the lower stones and gave off just enough light to keep me from breaking my neck. It wasn’t like Goblin gold. Here, it was something different. The air smelled damp and old.
I pressed a hand to the pendant as the moonstone stayed warm.
That had to mean something.
Right?
I walked forward, straining for the sound of my daughter’s voice.
“Celeste?” My whisper traveled strangely ahead.
…Este.
Este.
Este.
I shivered and kept moving as the passage narrowed quickly, forcing my shoulders to brush the walls. Symbols had been carved into the stone at uneven intervals, some old and shallow.
The corridor bent again, but this time the stone changed with it. The walls softened into places I knew too well. Floral wallpaper peeled beside a crooked coat rack from our old house. A row of framed school photos hung slightly uneven, exactly the way I used to leave them, no matter how many times Alex straightened them.
My stomach tightened.
A child’s drawing had been pinned crookedly to the wall beside a flickering lamp. Purple crayon. Wings. Far too many legs.
Celeste.
I stopped breathing for half a second.
The tower noticed.
Warm air drifted through the corridor, and I could almost see her racing barefoot through the hallway at eight years old, laughing because she’d glued sequins to the dog.
The familiar cruelty of it settled beneath my ribs.
“Mom?” The voice floated softly somewhere ahead of me.
My feet instinctively moved before my mind caught up. Every piece of me reached for her.
Then the pendant against my chest turned icy.
I froze.
Another voice slipped through the hall, shorter this time.
“Mommy?”
Pain hit me so hard I had to brace myself against the wall. The stone beneath my palm pulsed once, almost pleased with itself.
“No,” I whispered roughly. “You don’t get to use her.”
