They wrote:
WE WALK.
But their eyes said something else.
This is not your job.
Rhaen's eyes replied.
It became my job when you said "region."
They moved into the left tunnel.
The air inside smelled like burned stone.
The floor had faint scrape marks that were not random.
Lines of ash.
Rhaen crouched and brushed one with her fingertips.
It smeared.
Fresh.
Not old dungeon soot.
Rhaen looked up.
The walls here had tiny hooks hammered into them, old iron, but cleaned.
Someone had hung things here recently.
Maybe lamps.
Maybe relics.
The Sea-Glass operative wrote on the slate:
RITUAL ROUTE?
Rhaen nodded.
Her throat went tight.
She kept her breathing measured.
Witness.
The tunnel stayed stable.
Then a small glint caught her eye.
High up in a crack where stone met ceiling.
Not crystal.
Not metal.
A dark sliver.
Chitin.
It shifted.
Then vanished.
Rhaen's skin prickled.
She didn't shout.
She didn't reach for it.
