Chapter 22 · The Phoenix Bone Under the Tower

"Death eighteen has started."

The voice dropped out of the dark like it had always lived there — dry, layered, wearing her mother's exact pitch. Seraph's knees wanted to fold. She'd heard her mother's voice pulled out of worse things before, a hollow puppet some Fireweaver strung up outside Ashveil's gates back in loop nine, just to watch her scream. She didn't scream now. She grabbed the doorframe instead, nails cutting into rotten wood.

"That's not her." Kael was already past her, already three steps down the black stair like the voice hadn't touched him at all. "Whatever's talking, it wants you standing still. So don't."

"Easy for you. It's not wearing your mother's mouth."

"No." He didn't look back. "It's wearing yours. Every time I sleep."

That stopped her cold for exactly one second, which was one second too many, because behind them, up through the broken door, boots hit stone. A lot of boots.

"Move," Kael said, and this time it wasn't a suggestion.

She moved.

They went down together, her hand finding the wall for balance, his hand finding the hilt at his hip out of habit.