Chapter 6 · Welcome to the Night Court

The iron door keeps rising. It's taller than the courtroom ceiling should allow. The sound it makes is worse than nails on a chalkboard—metal grinding against stone that hasn't moved in decades.

I'm still kneeling on the floor. My cut palm is dripping onto the glowing symbols I didn't mean to draw. Silas is on his feet now, healed, staring at the door like it's a ghost he thought he'd buried.

"What did you do?" Lady Casta's voice is sharp enough to cut.

"I fixed him." My hand is throbbing. The blood won't stop. "You told me to."

"I told you to close the wound. Not wake the old city."

The door finishes its climb. Beyond it is a staircase carved from black stone. The steps go down. I can't see the bottom. Cold air rushes up from the gap, and it smells like rust and something older than rust. Something that makes my teeth ache.

Silas grabs my wrist. His fingers are ice-cold. "Don't look down there."

"Too late." I yank my hand back. The blood smears across both our palms. The symbols on the floor pulse brighter. "What is that?"

"The way home," Mara says from the doorway.