Page 38 of Too Dangerous To Die

Taking a torch from the wall, I light it with a flick of my wrist and start down the stairs. She follows without hesitation.

The descent is steep, the air growing colder with each step. The walls are damp, and the sound of dripping water echoes around us. At the bottom, the passage opens into a smaller chamber, this one devoid of any decoration save for a single sarcophagus in the center.

Unlike the one above, this sarcophagus is pristine, untouched by time. Runes glow faintly along its edges, pulsing with a rhythm that matches my heartbeat.

Nora approaches it, her fingers hovering over the surface. "This is..."

"A prison," I finish. "For a monster."

She looks at me, confusion evident. "What kind of monster?"

"The kind that wears a familiar face," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

Before she can question further, the ground trembles, and a low growl reverberates through the chamber. The runes on the sarcophagus flare brightly before dimming once more.

"We need to leave," I say urgently, grabbing her arm.

"But—"

"Now!"

We race back up the stairs, the tremors growing stronger. Dust and debris fall from the ceiling, and the walls groan in protest. As we reach the main chamber, a deafening crack echoes behind us.

Nora looks back, eyes wide. "What's happening?"

"The seal is breaking," I say, pushing her toward the exit. "We can't be here when it does."

We scramble through the narrow passage, emerging into the cold night air just as a roar shakes the ground beneath our feet. The entrance collapses behind us, sealing whatever lurked below back in its tomb.

Breathing heavily, we put distance between ourselves and the ruins.

17

NORA

The tremors don’t stop after we escape the ruins.

They continue long after the tomb collapses behind us, long after the echoes have faded into the silence of the Wastes. I feel them in my bones—in the way my teeth clench, the way my magic pulses erratically beneath my skin. It’s not the earth that’s shaking.

It’s me.

We walk in silence, but it’s a fragile thing, thin as frost. Rhaegar’s jaw is tight, his expression locked into that stone-like grimace he wears when he’s hiding something. I know that face now. I’ve memorized its edges, the way it hardens when he thinks I’m too close to something he doesn’t want me to see.

I’ve seen it too many times.

I stop walking.

He slows, then turns, his wings curling slightly behind him as though they’re echoing his tension. I fold my arms tightly across my chest—not because I’m cold, but because I need something to hold together.

“Start talking,” I say.

His brows lift slightly. “About?”

“Don’t insult me.” My voice is colder than the wind. “That tomb. Your name. The runes. What was that place, Rhaegar?”

He exhales like the question exhausts him. “It was a mistake.”

“That’s not an answer,” I snap.

---