Rhaen's knees hit stone and did not bounce.
The ring under her boots flared, then dimmed, like it had taken a breath and decided to hold it.
The mark behind her heart screamed again. Not three-short-one-long. Just pain. Hot, clean, and bright, like a needle pushed right into a nerve.
She forced her eyes open.
Four robed figures stood in the mouth of the corridor.
They didn't rush. They didn't draw steel. They didn't even lift their hands.
They simply watched her chest.
The Sea‑Glass operative's arm was around her ribs, holding her upright like a brace. Their grip was firm but careful, as if they could feel where her bones were cracked.
Rhaen swallowed and tasted blood.
One of the Walkers raised a slate.
SECOND SPARK.
Another slate lifted right after.
YOU CARRY.
The third.
WE WALK.
The fourth did not write words. It drew a simple shape: a circle, a slash, and a small flame above it.
The air felt heavy.
Not mana pressure.
People pressure.
