The van rolled through the Keep's underground garage, tires humming against the concrete. The team sat in their usual places—Cora up front, Mason by the door, Sera and Derek in the back, Lucian in the middle—but something was different. The silence wasn't tired anymore. It was alert. Aware.
Two weeks at the Springs had changed them.
Cora's fingers rested on the hilt of her sword, not gripping, just touching. A habit she'd picked up from the monks. Keep your weapon close, but don't let it keep you. Mason's gauntlets no longer hummed with constant heat; they waited, patient, like coiled snakes. Sera's phone was in her pocket, untouched for the entire drive. She didn't need to scroll anymore. She just watched.
Derek's ghosts hovered outside the van, flanking it like escorts. Dr. Blackwood sat in the seat beside him, solid enough to cast a faint shadow.
Lucian stared out the window, watching the garage lights pass.
Something was wrong.
