Kynes’s anchored trace draws him through the cooperage’s dusty workroom, past stacked hoops and empty casks. Bren follows close, while Nhal keeps the silver charm cupped in her purple shadow-hand.
The trace stops at a sealed rear door banded with ordinary iron. Violet light leaks between the floorboards beneath it, pulsing in answer to the magic threaded through Kynes’s hand.
Nhal
The charm is still mine, and the bridge remains quiet. Whatever is below has noticed you, but it has not taken hold of me.
Bren crouches beside the threshold without touching the lock. Dust trembles around the door’s edges, though the mundane ward remains unbroken and carefully intact.
Bren
That ward was built to keep something in, not keep intruders out. The question is whether it was meant to contain the signal or conceal it.
A second pulse rises from below. It mirrors the cadence of Kynes’s anchored trace, then alters one beat, like an answer formed by something studying his spell.
Nhal
It is answering now. I can sever the bridge if you want, or keep listening while you decide what to do with the door.