116. Scarlett
Scarlett
T he manor was too quiet, even the shadows were holding their breath.
I stood at the edge of a circular room deep underground—stone walls, iron sconces, a floor carved with the same three symbols from the tapestry, A dagger, a veil, an eye. But here, the center knot was no longer unraveling.
It was glowing.
Faint silver light pulsed beneath the stone like it was alive. Like it was listening.
I stepped closer, barefoot, the cold seeping into my bones.
And then I heard it.
A voice.
Soft. Male. Familiar.
“Scarlett…”
I spun, heart in my throat. No one was there.
But I felt him.
Trace.
And
Alden.
My knees buckled, and I dropped to the ground, hands pressed flat against the carved knot.
They were coming.
And part of me wanted to run.