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“Hey,” he said. “Come look at—”

Click.

Skye and Kato shared a look. They both knew that sound—it was the sound of an activation, of a mechanism engaging.

A low vibration stirred beneath their boots.

Then came the grind of stone against stone, the sound echoing through the dome.

Kato’s voice dropped. “What did you just do?”

“Nothing.” Skye grabbed the amulet from the slot, but the grinding didn’t stop.

The conduits on the walls flashed. Violet aether sluiced through the drooping nest of tubes hanging from the metal lattice, sludgy at first but gaining speed with each passing second.

A faint, almost imperceptible whine began to resonate as that ring tried to turn, shaking off flakes of rust.

The air thickened. The pressure built.

“Time to go,” Skye said, remarkably calm. So much for avoiding another careless mistake.

Kato didn’t argue.

They broke for the exit—but the ground pitched, sharp and wrong, like gravity had flipped on its head.

Wind came from nowhere. No direction. No warning. Just force slamming into them, pushing them back towards that ring as it spun into a blur—an open mouth, wide and ravenous, sucking at the air with a pressure that bent the world around it.

The pull hit like a vice. They were yanked backward—andup.

Skye caught a glimpse of Kato beside him, feet kicking as they left the ground, eyes wide with shock.

With one final, jarring lurch, the world twisted, blurred, and dissolved into nothing.

The dome fell silent. The machine’s lights flickered once, twice, then went dark, leaving only the dim beams of natural light seeping through the cracks above.

The gears wound down with a soft groan, the last echoes of movement fading away.

The space was empty.

Skye and Kato were gone.

Chapter 6

On the bright side, the world had stopped spinning.

And that was it—there was nothing else positive about this situation.

Groaning, Taly slowly became aware of her surroundings. The wooden chair beneath her, the ropes biting into her wrists. Her arms were wrenched back, bound tight enough to strain her shoulders. Her socked feet splayed at odd angles in front of her, and her head—heavy. Pulled down by something cold and biting.

A collar, perhaps? The chill of it sank into her bones. Not just cold against her skin but beneath it, like frost blooming inside her.

Pins and needles crawled through her limbs. The wheezing was back, but sharper, more insistent, like claws scraping through her lungs.

She tugged on the ropes. No give. Lifting her head was too much effort. So, she tipped it instead, surveying the world through slitted eyelids.

A tavern.

The main room was large and open, remarkably clean, with white marble floors polished to a mirror-like shine. Raw crystal arches lined the high ceiling, and they emitted a gentle glow that suffused the room with an iridescent, almost dream-like lighting.