They carried her down before sunset.No blindfold this time. Asher wanted her to see every step of the descent.A narrow stone staircase spiralled deep beneath the villa, lit only by torches set in iron sconces that hissed with pine resin. The air grew warmer with each turn, thick with the scent of melted beeswax and something darker (myrrh, copper, sex). Amara walked naked between Asher and Cassian, wrists bound behind her back with soft crimson cord. Rowan and Silas followed, silent, their bare feet soundless on the worn steps.At the bottom, a single obsidian door waited. No handle. Asher pressed his palm to the center. Ancient gears ground somewhere inside the wall, and the door swung inward on hidden hinges.The chamber beyond stole her breath.It was vast, circular, carved from black volcanic glass that drank the torchlight. In the center stood a waist-high altar of the same stone, polished until it reflected like a dark mirror. Runes had been etched around its edges and filled
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