Chapter Forty-Eight

The wind had settled by morning, leaving behind a quiet stillness that felt almost unnatural. Celeste stood by the window, watching the first rays of sunlight creep over the horizon. The ring on her finger hummed with a faint warmth, like an ember refusing to die out.

She hadn't slept.

Neither had Amelia.

The events of the night before played in an endless loop in her mind. The way the ring had burned against her skin the moment she'd put it on. The way Nathaniel's expression had darkened, his usual composure cracking just enough to reveal something close to fear. The way Amelia had clung to her hand as if letting go would mean losing her completely.

"You felt it, didn't you?" Amelia's voice was soft but certain as she approached.

Celeste nodded, fingers tightening around the windowsill. "It wasn't just warmth. It was… something else. Like I was being pulled toward something."

Amelia placed a hand on her back, a steady presence in the uncertainty. "Nathaniel said the ring was a key, but he didn't say to what."

Celeste turned to face her. "Maybe because he doesn't know."

The thought sent a chill through her. Nathaniel had been their guide, the one person who seemed to have all the answers. But last night, when she had put on the ring, he had looked as surprised as they were.

Footsteps echoed down the hall. A moment later, Nathaniel appeared in the doorway. He looked as exhausted as they felt, but his expression was composed. Determined.

"I know where you need to go," he said.

Celeste and Amelia exchanged a glance before following him into the library. The room was dim, the curtains still drawn, but Nathaniel moved with purpose. He walked to the far wall and pressed his palm against an old wooden panel. There was a soft click, and then the entire bookshelf slid back, revealing a narrow passageway.

Amelia blinked. "Of course you have a secret passage."

Nathaniel shot her a look. "It was your mother's."

Celeste's breath caught. "She built this?"

Nathaniel nodded. "It leads to a place she never wanted you to find until you were ready." His gaze flickered to the ring on her finger. "I think this means you are."

The air in the passageway was cold, heavy with the scent of old stone and something else—something ancient. Celeste hesitated for only a moment before stepping inside. Amelia followed without question.

Nathaniel reached for a lantern and lit it, casting flickering light along the walls. "This tunnel leads to the foundation of the estate. Your mother called it the threshold."

Celeste ran her fingers along the walls as they walked. The stone was smooth in some places, jagged in others, like it had been carved in haste. "What did she mean by 'threshold'?"

Nathaniel's voice was quieter now, almost reverent. "She believed it was a place between worlds. A crossing."

Celeste's heart pounded. "A crossing to where?"

Nathaniel stopped in front of a heavy iron door. "That," he said, pulling a key from his pocket, "is for you to see for yourself."

He turned the key. The lock clicked. The door creaked open.

And beyond it, darkness stirred.

Celeste swallowed hard. The air beyond the threshold shifted, as though something on the other side had felt them arrive. She could hear the faintest whisper of something—wind? A voice? She wasn't sure. But the moment her foot crossed into the room, the ring on her finger pulsed, the warmth intensifying.

Amelia caught her wrist. "Are you sure about this?"

Celeste's lips parted, but no words came. Was she sure?

No.

But something inside her knew—there was no turning back now.

Nathaniel stepped in after them, the light from the lantern barely cutting through the thick, consuming shadows. The walls of the chamber were lined with carvings—symbols Celeste didn't recognize, intricate lines and curves that seemed to pulse in and out of focus the longer she stared.

"This isn't just a room," Amelia murmured.

"No," Nathaniel agreed, his voice grim. "It's a door."

Celeste stepped forward, drawn to the center of the room where a pedestal stood. Atop it, covered in dust and time, lay a book.

Her breath hitched.

She reached out, hesitating only briefly before brushing her fingers against the cover. The dust scattered, revealing an inscription burned into the leather.

Her mother's name.

And below it, a single phrase:

The Keeper's Will.

The ring on her finger pulsed again.

The darkness in the chamber shifted.

And then, the whispers became voices.