The air in the chamber was still, the faint hum of forgotten machinery the only sound as you stepped cautiously inside. Shadows clung to the corners, their silence broken only by the soft rustle of fabric—a sound you realized wasn’t coming from you.

She was here.

Acheron.

“You shouldn’t have come here.” Her voice was soft, yet it carried an authority that made the air seem heavier. Her dark eyes studied you, framed by the crimson sheen of her cloak. “Fate is not kind to those who wander too far from its design.”