Christian caught her arm. “Be careful,” he said, his voice quiet but firm.
Willow nodded and continued, her steps measured and slow.
Raven trailed them.
In an alcove, a life-sized stone knight stood sentinel.
“The guardian,” Raven whispered, stopping before him.
His blank eyes stared at her with reproach. His stone chin was bearded, and he wore stone metal plate armor. His cold left hand was facing toward her, palm up, and with the right, he gripped the hilt of his sword, the point at the ground.
Willow reached out and traced the cross on his tunic. “He’s a Templar.”
“Did you discover something?” Landyn called down the corridor.
“We found the guardian,” Raven answered. Her gaze shifted to his open palm. “But his hand is empty.”
“One hand,” Willow observed. “The other has a sword.”
Landyn’s footsteps announced his approach before he appeared, silhouetted in the flickering torchlight. “Do you see a key?” he asked.
Christian swept the torch slowly over the figure, its yellow light gliding across the beige stone, revealing a myriad of fine details.
“He holds the key,” Landyn mused.
Raven looked at the open palm. “His hand is empty. Do you think someone took it?”
Landyn glanced back at the door where Sage and Marcus waited in the darkness. “The door hasn’t been opened for a long time.”
With her fingertips, Willow reverently traced the intricate curves of the sword’s hilt. “This sword is beautiful. So lifelike.”
Raven ignored her. Willow found beauty in almost everything. “Someone might have taken the key to keep others out.”
Christian shook his head. “There are decades worth of webs in the corridor and dirt on the door. No one has been here.”
Raven placed her hands on her hips. “Then where’s the key?”
“The guardian holds the key,” Landyn repeated.
Raven paced before the life-sized Templar Knight statue, her gaze traveling over the delicate details of his armor and the determined expression on his face. “Is there another way he could hold it?” she asked. “Maybe in his heart.”
Willow knelt before the statue, staring at the sword, touching it gently with her fingers. She focused on the pommel in the knight’s hand. “Look at the loving way this was created. This sword seems real.”
“Or in his mind,” Landyn added, ignoring Willow.
“Do we have to knock this statue down? Is the key inside of him?” Christian asked.
Raven’s gaze lingered on the statue, then shifted to her sister, hidden in the dark. Sage had always been skilled at picking locks. But this time, Raven knew it wouldn’t be so simple. With a sigh, she rubbed her forehead.
Suddenly, a grinding noise filled the corridor, and Willow shot to her feet. “I didn’t do anything!” she protested, holding her hands out before her.
Christian grabbed her arm and dragged her back a few steps.
Raven’s eyes darted back and forth between the shaking walls and the crumbling ceiling above them. She felt the vibrations under her feet as dirt and stones loosened from the ceiling and cascaded onto the ground. “What did you do?” Raven demanded, backing down the corridor toward Sage.
“I tried to scrape away some dirt on the pommel, and his hand shifted,” Willow explained hurriedly, clutching Christian’s arm.
“Go,” Christian ordered, his voice urgent. “We have to get out of here before the entire place comes down.”
