The pentagram on the floor glows faintly, a beacon in the dim room where we stand. I can barely make out Caleb's sharp features from across the circle, his gray eyes like chips of ice reflecting the sparse light. Electra's silhouette is tense, her shoulders squared as if she's bracing against an invisible force.
"Are we ready?" Caleb's voice slices through the silence, and it feels like he's asking more than just about the ritual. It's about whether we're ready to face whatever comes after, to handle the consequences of meddling with forces we barely understand.
Electra nods, her posture rigid with resolve. "This is our only chance."
I swallow the lump forming in my throat, feeling the weight of responsibility pressing down on me. This isn't just about us anymore; it's about what we owe
