Claimed by the silverfang alphas
Through the blue light, the ink seemed to rise off the page, change shape, and then became clear text.
Ancient Latin. Age-old, but readable.
"I can see it," I breathed, my heart beating against my ribs. "It's... it's a blueprint."
"Translate," Marcus Blackthorn ordered, leaning forward, his glass of scotch forgotten in his hand.
I scanned the page. The illustrations were horrific.....sketches of human bodies being stretched, hollowed out, and filled with black ink.
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