A sudden skittering sound exploded out of the rocks, and I shrieked like my soul had briefly left my body.
Something small, fast, and deeply offensive to nature launched itself across the path. All scales. Too many legs. It froze mid-scuttle when it noticed us, eyes glowing in the low light like it had just been caught committing a crime.
The thing and I stared at each other.
Then it made a sharp, indignant noise and vanished into a crack in the stone with the energy of someone who absolutely would be filing a complaint later.
Arthur’s grip tightened reflexively, then eased when the threat turned out to be approximately the size of a baguette.
I cleared my throat. “I would like it on record that I screamed strategically.”
His lips twitched. “Entirely justified,”he replied into my mind. “That creature was rude.”
“I agree,” I said. “It knew what it was doing.”
He squeezed my hand once, warm and reassuring, and we kept going—me with my dignity only slightly dented, him clearly fighting a smile.
The passage opened abruptly into a chamber so vast it felt like stepping out of a tunnel into sky.
Four enormous statues dominated the room, only upper bodies carved from stone, each one different. There was one in each corner of the chamber. A dragon. A massive sea creature with curling fins. A human. And something that looked human-adjacent, taller, longer-limbed, its features sharper and more symmetrical. Atlantean.
Their hands and claws reached inward, forming a circular dais at the center of the room where an ancient scale sat, its arms balanced perfectly. Each pan held a single dusty object. Behind it all stood an altar crowded with items, some mundane, some clearly ceremonial.
Hadrian’s two remaining men stepped forward slowly, boots scraping against the stone as if it might reactto the sound alone. Neither of them rushed. Both scanned the statues, the scale, the altar crowded with objects that suddenly looked less like offerings and more like choices with consequences.
One of them lifted a hand, then lowered it again. His shoulders rose and fell with a shallow breath.
Hadrian exhaled sharply, the sound edged with irritation. “Well?” he demanded, his voice snapping across the chamber. “What are you waiting for?”
No one answered.
He took a step forward, eyes cold, jaw tight. “Move,” he said. “Or I start killing you myself and see what the statues think of that.”
One of his men swallowed hard and stepped closer toward the altar, hands shaking as he grabbed a heavy stone weight. He looked back once, clearly hoping for reassurance that didn’t come.
The statue closest to him moved.
Stone groaned. The head turned just enough to be unmistakable. A massive arm moved with terrifying slowness, then came down hard.
Arthur pulled me against his chest in an instant, his body turned so my face was buried against him as the impact shook the room. Stone cracked. Dust exploded outward. When the sound settled, there was nothing left of the man but broken ground.
The statue turned still again.
Arthur didn’t loosen his hold until the dust cleared.
Hadrian stared at the ruin, fury flashing across his face. “Unbelievable,” he snapped. “This is why I brought expendable help.”
My stomach twisted.
I forced myself to slow down, to stop reacting and startreadingthe room the way I would a text that resisted being skimmed.
The statues weren’t identical. They weren’t symmetrical. Each one represented a different figure, a different culture, a different way of existing in the world. Dragon. Sea creature. Human. Atlantean. And the objects already resting in the scales weren’t heavy at all. They were small. Symbolic. Chosen.
My gaze snapped back to the altar.
Offerings, not tools.
My chest tightened as the pattern locked into place.
