First message
The auction house did not exist on any map.
It was buried beneath the bones of a forgotten city—stone arches carved with symbols no modern language could translate, veins of dim blue light pulsing through the walls like something alive beneath the surface. The air itself hummed, thick with restrained power.
This was not a place for men.
It was a place for those who believed they could own gods.
At the center of the chamber, a circular stage rose from the floor—polished obsidian, reflecting the crowd like a black mirror. Tiered seating curved around it, filled with figures cloaked in wealth, power, and secrecy.
And at the front—
They stood.
Three men. Three intentions.
Elias Thorne stood on the other side, tension written into every line of him.
His hands were clasped—not in confidence, but restraint. His eyes, pale and searching, moved across the chamber… the sigils… the mechanisms humming beneath the stone.
And then to the stage.
Something in his expression faltered.
“This is wrong,” he said under his breath.
Not loud enough for the room.
But loud enough for them.
Cassian glanced at him, amused.
Dorian didn’t look away from the stage.
“Then leave,” Dorian replied.
Elias didn’t.