Chapter Thirty Five
In the dim, suffocating interior of her tent, Luna sat cross-legged on a moth-eaten rug, her eyes fixed on the crimson gem cradled in her palm. The stone pulsed with a rhythmic, sickly light that seemed to mock her. It felt heavy, not with physical weight, but with the burden of the secrets it refused to reveal. For hours, she had tried everything her mind could conjure. She had smeared Dylan's dried blood across its facets; she had shifted her physical form to match his muscular build perfectly; she had even tried to channel her own aura into the stone's core.
Nothing. The gem remained a cold, unresponsive piece of mineral, its surface as smooth and silent as a grave.
"How the hell does this work?" she hissed, her voice vibrating with a jagged edge of frustration. Her fingers tightened around the stone until her knuckles turned white, the sharp edges of the gem digging into her palm. "How am I supposed to find Klaus with this piece of junk?"
