Emma woke to darkness so complete it felt like drowning.
Her wrists were bound againβnot silk, not leather, but cold iron manacles bolted to the stone wall of the deepest chamber she had ever seen. Lower than the dungeon. Lower than the passage. A crypt beneath the crypt. The air was thick, wet, tasting of earth and decay and the faint copper tang of old blood. A single torch burned high on the wall, its flame sickly green, casting long shadows that writhed like living things.




















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