The silence that followed the crash was not empty it breathed.

It pulsed against the walls like something alive.

Vera pressed her palms against the cold stone, her heartbeat echoing in the hollow dark. “Nicolas!” she shouted, but the name vanished into the walls. She hit the door again. It didn’t move. The sound of her fist on marble was the only answer.

Dust fell from the ceiling, soft as ash. The air reeked of candle smoke and iron. Somewhere, water dripped in a slow, uneven rhythm like ...