Selene’s eyes snapped open.

Her heart was racing. Sweat clung to her skin. The dream still echoed in her ear, her mother’s warning, the field of stars, the voice that said: “You are the key. But she is the gate.”

She looked around the chamber. The trap magic still glowed faintly across the ceiling. Her mother lay beside her, still caught in the spell-sleep, lips parted slightly, chest rising and falling with a slow rhythm. She looked peaceful, but Selene knew peace in this place was an illusion.

Caius stood near the door, sword drawn.

Alaric was pacing, checking every wall, every crack.

Orla crouched beside one of the unconscious...