Bren stills at the threshold, just as before, one hand on the stone and the other near the seal. Dust drifts between you in the violet light. She does not move into the passage until Kynes answers her.

Kynes speaks enough to answer the question, and the tower seems to listen. Bren’s hard stare breaks, not with surprise, but with recognition. The sort that comes when a suspicion finally earns its name.

She draws back her sleeve, revealing the map etched into her bracer, then opens her other hand. The gesture is bare and deliberate, no weapon, no trick.

The second sigil glows brighter as if in answer, and the hidden passage yawns wider ahead.

Kynes lowers his staff and steps through the widening mouth of the passage. The stone underfoot tilts into a spiral, and he tests each tread before committing his weight.

Dust sifts past his boots in pale ribbons. The violet glow thins here, replaced by cold bedrock and a draft that tastes of rain far below.

His gaze catches on runes cut into the inner wall, old as the foundation itself. They repeat in pairs, then break, then repeat again, like a ward built around a hidden seam.

Behind him, Bren follows the first turn, one hand skimming the stone for balance. The opening above sheds another spill of grit, but the stair holds.