We didn't speak as we followed the path deeper into the Dorne estate's northern ridge.
Mira walked ahead, torch in hand, her usual sarcasm shelved somewhere between "ghost-infested attic" and "Felix almost died again." Wallace trudged behind us, fiddling with a ticking device that looked like a mix between a compass and a wind-up mouse. He swore it was calibrated to detect spectral activity.
Felix? He walked beside me, face pale but determined, clutching a worn journal he'd stolen from a sealed chest upstairs.
The journal belonged to his great-grandfather. And it held something dangerous.
Something forbidden.
"According to this," Felix whispered, "there's a vault beneath the orchard. Buried during the last civil purge."
"The one where House Dorne lost half its bloodline?" Mira asked dryly.
Felix nodded. "The survivors sealed away their… shame. And power."
"Let me guess," Wallace muttered. "You want to open it."
"No," Felix said. "I want to understand it."
