Valentine Spade coming back to herself slowly.
At first, there was only darkness and the steady rhythm of her own breathing. Then came sensation. Cool stone beneath her palms. A faint hum in the air, like power restrained rather than released. Her head throbbed, not with pain, but with disorientation, as if she had been moved through space too quickly for her body to agree with it.
She opened her eyes.
The ceiling above her arched high, carved from pale stone veined with silver lines that pulsed faintly, almost like a heartbeat. Symbols were etched into every surface, unfamiliar yet strangely soothing, as though they recognized her even if she did not recognize them.
She pushed herself upright, breath hitching as memory rushed back.
The smoke. Luther reaching for her. His voice callin
