The final bell rings, sharp and shrill, cutting through the classroom like a blade. Everyone else moves immediately—chairs scraping, laughter spilling into the hallway, phones lighting up. Normal life. Homework. Parties. Complaints about exams.

I stay seated for a second longer. The Amulet rests in my bag. I stand, sling my bag over my shoulder, and step into the crowded hallway. Noise presses in from all sides, but I filter through it automatically. Footsteps. Heartbeats. Lockers slamming.

I take the side exit like I always do. No one notices. No one ever does.

The gravel crunches under my boots as I head toward the maintenance tunnel hidden behind the old stadium bleachers. I slip inside, letting the metal door fall shut behind me.

My voice deepens slightly as I exhale. Showtime.

—

The Troll Market opens before me in glowing lanternlight and carved stone. Trolls barter, argue, laugh. A forge sparks in the distance.

But the energy feels… off. Too tight. Ispot Griffith near the training ring. He’s standing still—too still. That’s my first red flag.

I walk toward him in my usual clothes, hands sliding into my jacket pockets. “You look like someone just told you the world’s ending,” I say casually. “Again.”

Griffith doesn’t smile. “It may be,” he replies.

I tilt my head slightly. “Okay. That’s never how you start a normal conversation.”

He steps closer, lowering his voice. “He has returned.”

My jaw tightens instantly. “Angor Rot.”

He nods, and a slow breath leaves my lungs.

“Did he attack?” I ask.

“No.” He answered, short, focused That makes me look at him sharply. “He doesn’t just wander for sightseeing.”

“He was seen near the lower catacombs.”

“Near the Archives?” I ask.

Griffith nods once. I let out a humorless huff. “So he’s bored of trying to kill me directly.”

“He is searching.” He remarks.

“For what?” I ask. Griffith studies me carefully. “That is the concern.”