Mason’s POV The room felt smaller once the circle was complete. Not physically, nothing had changed about the size of the VIP suite, but the air itself had thickened, as if the walls were inching closer, listening, waiting; it was suffocating. Even the noises outside of the suite beyond the glass wall seemed to fade, swallowed by something older, heavier. Shaman Orun stood at the center of the ritual circle, his staff planted firmly against the floor. The symbols beneath his feet glowed faintly, pulsing like a slow, steady heartbeat. Aurora and Cecil stepped back, giving him space. No one spoke. No one breathed too loudly. Orun reached for the small metal cauldron he carried with him everywhere, dented, darken
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