The glow of the hourglass pulsed in my palm like a living heartbeat. I couldn’t look away, though every fiber of my being screamed that I should. It vibrated under my fingers, a warmth that felt almost sentient, syncing with the rapid drumming of my pulse. Dante was beside me, kneeling on the wet stones, his expression taut with concentration. His hand hovered over mine, but he didn’t touch me — he knew better than to break the fragile spell binding us to this luminous relic.

“Isabella…” His voice was low, gravelly, carrying all the weight of fear, awe, and an intensity I had never heard before. “It’s moving again....