The culvert opens beneath the abandoned shrine, where a cramped storehouse gathers the smell of damp stone, old grain, and dust. Broken votive jars lean against the walls like exhausted witnesses.
Gaius Neratius lowers himself onto an overturned grain measure. He places the copied clay tablet beside him, then cradles the sealed wax tablet in both hands.
Gaius Neratius
Here, at last, we can look at it without standing beneath the sky.
Gaius Neratius
If I break this seal, we may learn the patron's name. We may also destroy the only concealment that has kept us alive.
Gaius Neratius
I have taught boys to read the words of powerful men. I never imagined I would fear the lesson itself.
Lamplight from the culvert trembles across the wax. For the first time since the flight began, silence settles around both of you without demanding an immediate choice.