The underground sanctuary of the Brotherhood of the Veil felt even more silent than Claire remembered. The stone walls breathed centuries of dampness, and the candles flickered with a restlessness that came not from wind, but from the weight in the air.
Solène walked ahead, her violet cloak trailing along the uneven floor. In the distance, Latin chants whispered through the corridors, rising from the hidden chapel.
— "Are you ready to see?" Solène asked, without turning her face.
Claire hesitated. Whatever lay behind that iron door was more than a secret. It was a choice.
— "Yes," she answered, though her voice barely rose above a breath.
As they entered the chamber, a hooded figure rose from a stone altar. It was the Mistmaster — the oldest among the Guardians. His voice cut through the silence like a blade:
— "Armand has been touched by the Veil. He is no longer one of us."
Claire swallowed hard.
— "But he helped me. He saved my life."
— "Perhaps. Or perhaps the Veil is wearing his face to get closer to you."
The tension thickened in the room. Solène stepped forward.
— "And the Key? Is it still safe?"
The Mistmaster nodded slowly, but his eyes were dark.
— "For now. But the Shadows in Paris are moving. And this time… they whisper your name, Claire."