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“Then we don’t waste time,” I said. “We take it to Crowe tonight. Before anything else has a chance to find it first.”

Lydia met my eyes, her worry plain, but so was her resolve. “Then we go together. We don’t let you carry this weight alone.”

I gave her a faint smile, and for the first time since touching the relic, I felt the tiniest measure of relief.

Not because I held Oblivion’s Embrace in my hand, but because I wasn’t holding it alone.

The decision made, we wasted no time.

The relic was wrapped carefully in cloth and tucked into the depths of my satchel, nestled beside Cordelia’s faded journal like a heartbeat waiting to wake.

We left the tower behind with one last glance at its skeletal heights, the faint golden glow in the upper window already beginning to fade—as though whatever magic had guarded the relic knew its purpose had been fulfilled.

The path back, however, was anything but simple.

The ruins that had seemed so maze-like before were worse in reverse. Shadows clung tighter now, and the air held a lingering weight—as if disturbed by our passage, the place resented our retreat.

“Was this staircase always this narrow?” Bethany muttered, nearly tripping over a loose stone. “Because I swear it’s closing in on us.”

“No,” I whispered. “It’s just different when you’re carrying something the place didn’t want you to have.”

The only light came from the faint glow of Lydia’s spell, and the occasional pulse of silver against my chest—Raven’s Echo. The amulet throbbed now and then, its warmth guiding me when we came to uncertain forks or dead ends.

We moved in near silence, save for breath and footfalls, each of us tense, eyes flicking to every shadow as if expecting the obsidian knight—or worse—to come crashing down from the walls again.

Yet nothing came.

Only the steady winding of our steps through the broken fortress, the ever-shifting turns of the labyrinth guiding us into one narrow corridor after another.

Sometimes, we’d end up back in a space we swore we’d already passed.

Sometimes, the stone itself seemed to breathe—settling, groaning, watching.

The Raven’s Echo would whisper faintly, a warmth against my chest when I hesitated. It whispered not in commands, but in nudges— left, not right. Forward. Wait. Breathe.

Every time I obeyed, we found our way.

“Are you—sure it’s not leading us deeper?” Leander asked after our third tight turn.

I shook my head. “It doesn’t want the relic down here. It wants it delivered.”

“To Crowe?” Lydia asked.

I glanced down at the amulet. It pulsed softly—yes.

“I think so.”

We pressed onward, navigating broken archways, climbing back through the courtyard with the shattered well and dead trees, stepping lightly across cracked flagstones and worn paths now lit only by the early hints of dawn beginning to pierce the sky.

Eventually—blessedly—we reached the painted alcove. The place where it all began.

The enchanted painting still shimmered faintly, the image of the ruin swirling like disturbed water.

I looked over my shoulder at the others. “Ready?”

Bethany exhaled. “Not even remotely.”

“Sorry sweetheart,” Samael muttered, brushing the hair back from his brow. “We’re not staying down here.”

We stepped forward, one by one, the painting rippling as we passed through.

Just like that—

The ruins were behind us.

The stone beneath our feet turned smooth and familiar.

We were back in the hidden corridor beneath the Divination Tower.

At first, the transition felt seamless—cold air, smooth flagstones, the lingering echo of magic still clinging to our skin. We walked in silence, footsteps soft, minds already focused on what lay ahead.

But then—

The air changed.

A sharp crack splintered the silence like bone snapping in a too-quiet room.

I spun just as the corridor behind us began to shift.

The walls groaned.

Stone ground against stone—slow and deliberate—as if the castle itself had woken and now sought to devour the secret it had let slip free.

“The ward’s gone,” Lydia gasped. “We’re not protected anymore.”

We didn’t need more warning.

“ Run! ” Samael’s voice cut through the rising grind of stone, the command sharp as a blade.

We turned and bolted—but the corridor was different now. It was longer. Narrower. The ceiling pressed lower, the air thick with dust and the scent of old earth. Every footstep echoed like a scream, every heartbeat thundered in my ears.

The walls were closing in.

Not metaphorically.

Literally.

The passage that had once felt sacred now churned with menace. Veins of glowing runes sparked and faded along the stone as though trying to hold the structure together—but it was failing. Ancient bricks cracked and split. The floor shuddered beneath our feet.

“Faster!” Leander barked, grabbing Bethany’s arm to steady her as she stumbled.

The corridor moaned , the sound almost human.

The light from Lydia’s spell flickered wildly, casting frantic shadows across our path. Pieces of the ceiling began to fall in earnest now—small at first, then chunks the size of bricks. They shattered across the stone like gunfire.

Samael pushed me ahead of him. “Go! I’ve got you!”

I didn’t argue.

I grabbed Lydia’s hand as we rounded the bend, the exit nowhere in sight. The corridor narrowed again, pressing inward. I had to duck as we ran, the ceiling now barely clearing my head.

Behind us—another boom . A wall caved in, sending a spray of rubble across the hall.

Bethany screamed.

“Keep going!” Samael shouted.

I didn’t look back.

I couldn’t.

The weight of the relic in my bag felt like a brand now—heavy and burning and impossibly seen by whatever old magic was trying to seal us inside.

Just when it felt like the air would crush us—

A sliver of light ahead.

The end.

Cordelia’s portrait.

“Go, go!” I shouted, shoving Lydia ahead of me.

One final turn.

A burst of freezing air.

We tumbled, one after the other, out through the threshold of the hidden corridor—collapsing in a heap at the foot of Cordelia Vale’s portrait.

The ground beneath us stilled.

A second passed. Then two.

Then the corridor behind us sealed shut with a deep, final boom —like the closing of a tomb.

I lay there for a moment, panting, every muscle trembling as the others groaned and tried to sit up. Samael helped me to my feet, his hand firm against my back.

There—

Footsteps.

Coming fast. Just around the bend.

We didn’t speak. We moved.

Lydia grabbed my sleeve and pulled me toward the nearest alcove, ducking into the shadows. Samael was right behind us. But as we turned the corner, I glanced back—just in time to see Bethany trip over a ripple in the ornate rug that lined the hall and fall hard against the marble floor.

“Beth!”

Leander turned on his heel, looping back, catching her under the arms to help her up.

It was too late.

The footsteps stopped.

A chilling silence followed.

“Mr. Stirling. Miss Sloane.”

Leander straightened slowly, and Bethany winced as she clutched her knee.

From the shadows, I peered around the corner and caught the unmistakable silhouette of Headmistress Grimrose standing in the hallway, her long coat drawn tightly around her, hair in its usual impeccable twist. Her cane tapped once against the floor with sharp finality.

“I presume you both have a perfectly logical explanation for why you’re galivanting the wings of the castle at six in the morning?”

Neither of them answered.

The headmistress’s voice dropped an octave. “Curfew is not a suggestion. Nor is the sanctity of the Divination Tower a playground for over-imaginative students.”

Bethany tried. “Headmistress, we—”

“Save it,” Grimrose snapped. “Both of you. Detention. Three days. With Professor Coldwell. If you’re going to disobey the rules of the Academy, you’ll learn what discipline means. I’ll escort you myself.”

She turned sharply, her cane tapping briskly as she began leading them away, Bethany and Leander trailing behind with guilty glances cast over their shoulders.

I held my breath, heart hammering.

The corridor was silent again.

Lydia touched my arm. “We wait another minute.”

We did.

Once the path was clear, Samael stepped from the shadows, his jaw tight. “That was too close.”

“They’ll be okay,” I said quietly. “They were brave. They bought us time.”

Lydia nodded once, her voice a whisper. “Then let’s make it worth it.”

Together, the three of us turned from the now-quiet portrait of Cordelia Vale—and made our way swiftly toward the library.

We still had a mission to complete.

And time was running out.