"The palace sleeps peacefully above us," Selene Arkwright murmured as the faint glow of her lantern traced wavering shadows across ancient stone, her measured voice carrying through the forgotten passage with quiet conviction while one gloved hand brushed against the damp wall, feeling grooves carved by craftsmen whose names had vanished from history centuries before, and a restrained smile touched her lips because every careful step brought her closer to a purpose she had pursued for most of her life.
Silas Crowe followed several paces behind without allowing his attention to wander, his broad shoulders moving with disciplined control as he surveyed every dark intersection branching from the narrow corridor, while the dozen cult followers trailing them carried hooded lamps whose muted crimson light transformed the abandoned catacombs into a maze of shifting silhouettes.
