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At the end of the passage, the darkness opened into a bridge.
Stone arched over black water. On the other side, a tower rose inside the mountain itself, windowless and pale, lit from below by silver water running in channels around its base.
Zenith Tower.
No road reached it.
No sky touched it.
At the foot of the bridge, a woman waited.
She looked at Caswell.
Then at the closed passage behind us.
Then at the four of us.
Her gaze stopped on me.
“Selene Verita’s daughter,” she said.
Behind her, somewhere inside the Tower, a bell rang.
The sound moved through my bones before it reached my ears.
The woman’s eyes went to my wrist.
Then to the three lines answering around me.
“Bring them in,” she said.
The bridge waited.
