Chapter 67: Ash Between Their Steps
"Stop pretending you’re calm," Savannah muttered under her breath, clutching the hilt of the torch tighter.
"I’m not," Rhett said, blade still drawn as the stone walls around them seemed to breathe. "Calm left me the second Camille’s blood hit these stones."
The chapel ruins groaned above them as if remembering. The wind howled through gaps in the roof. Shadows flickered in and out, cast by their torchlight, forming specters of all the ghosts once buried by Alpha decrees and Syndicate betrayals. Dust thickened in the air as they advanced deeper.
Savannah swallowed a lump in her throat and whispered, "If she came willingly... why leave blood? Why leave pieces?"
"She didn’t leave them," Rhett said grimly. "They wanted us to follow."
Their steps echoed. Each footfall sounded like a question unanswered, each breath a prelude to revelation. The hallway widened. What they entered next had not been part of any estate map, it was older. Preceding Sterling’s rule. The ceiling was high and dome-shaped, its arches coated in soot, like fire had once danced across every inch. Symbols, half-burned, marked the stone.
"The Hollowfang crest," Rhett murmured, brushing ash from one wall. "This wasn’t just a punishment chamber."
Savannah stepped forward, heart pounding. "It was a council room."
And in its center, beneath a circle of broken candles and long-extinguished torches, was a chair. Not just any chair, throne-like in height, rusted iron in build, and soaked at the base in something far too red to be paint.
Rhett crouched low, examining the claw marks embedded in the armrests. "They chained Alphas here."
Savannah stepped closer. "And tested them. I’ve heard of this place in whispers. It was called The Pulse."