Chapter 23

     The storm had gathered at the edges of the sky, thickening in dark clouds that seemed to swirl around a central point far out over the Atlantic. The ground beneath our feet was trembling now, the warmth that Ava had drawn from the land radiating up through the marsh, a slow, steady pulse like a heartbeat. But as the tide turned, I could sense that something else was stirring—something that wasn’t tied to Ava, but to the land itself.

     I blinked, and for a brief moment, I wasn’t standing on the shore anymore. I was somewhere else—somewhere older, darker, a place thick with history and the scent of iron and dust.

     A door creaked open.

     The image snapped into my mind without warning: a tall man, his features gaunt and sharp, dressed in the stiff, regal uniform of another era. He moved with purpose, but there was something furtive in his movements, something that suggested he wasn’t supposed to be there.

     I watched as he jimmied the lock, his fingers deft and quick, his movements practiced. The door groaned open, revealing a dimly lit room filled with the smell of oil and sweat. Inside, the air was heavy with anticipation, the kind of tension that came when something important was about to happen—something dangerous, something that could change everything.

     The man stepped inside, his eyes darting around the room as though he expected to find someone there waiting for him. But the room was empty, save for a few scattered objects—a table, a chair, a lantern flickering weakly in the corner. And on the table, something small but significant gleamed in the low light.

     He approached it slowly, cautiously, his breath catching in his throat as he reached for the object. His fingers wrapped around it—a small vial, no bigger than a thumb, filled with a strange, silvery liquid that seemed to shimmer and shift with every movement of the light.

     A twist, a swab—he tested the liquid, his hands moving with precision as he examined it. There was something unsettling about the way it moved, like it was alive, like it had a will of its own. And then he paused, a strange expression flickering across his face as though he had just realized the weight of what he was holding.

     He muttered something under his breath—something I couldn’t quite make out. But I caught enough: *"newness."* He wasn’t just here to take something. He was here to create something new. This wasn’t about the past. It was about reshaping the future.

     The image shifted again, and I saw him leave the room, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft click. He moved quickly now, his steps more confident as he left the building, stepping out into the cold night air. The wind picked up around him, carrying with it the scent of metal—sharp and biting, like the air just before a storm.

     And then I saw the figure who had been waiting for him—a woman, her face half-hidden in shadow, but her eyes gleaming with recognition. She stepped forward, her hand outstretched, and he handed her the vial without hesitation. She smiled, a slow, deliberate smile that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

     The king of Belgium—Henry, they called him—had done his part. He had jimmied the door, twisted the swab, paid the price for a new future. But this wasn’t his game. It was hers. And the gleam in her eyes told me that she had been waiting for this moment far longer than he had.

     I blinked again, and the image faded, the room dissolving into the present as I found myself standing once more on the marshy shoreline, the Atlantic roaring in the distance. Ava was still there, her back to us, but the energy around her had shifted, growing more erratic, more dangerous. The warmth she had drawn from the land was no longer steady—it pulsed in fits and starts, like a heart struggling to beat.

     “What did you see?” Tony’s voice cut through the fog of my thoughts, and I shook my head, trying to make sense of the vision.

     “I’m not sure,” I said, my voice unsteady. “But it felt... old. Something about the past. Someone—Henry, a king—jimmied a door, opened something he wasn’t supposed to. He handed off a vial, something... important. And there was a woman. She was the real power.”

     Tony frowned, but he didn’t press me. “Ava’s not the only one playing this game,” he muttered, half to himself.

     “No,” I agreed. “She’s part of something bigger.”

     I turned my gaze back to Ava, watching the way her figure swayed slightly in the wind, her hands still outstretched as though she was holding the very air in her grasp. I could feel it now—this wasn’t just about Ava. It wasn’t just about Achilles. This was about the city itself, the land, the history that had been buried and twisted and corrupted over centuries.

     Ava was tapping into something ancient, something that had been there long before she had arrived. But she wasn’t the first to try. The vision of Henry, the king of Belgium, jimming open that door—it was a reminder that others had come before her, that others had sought to control the power of the land. And just like Ava, they had paid a price for it.

     The wind shifted, and I caught the faintest scent of metal in the air—a sharp, cold smell that sent a shiver down my spine. It was the same scent I had smelled in the vision, the same metallic tang that had clung to the air around Henry as he handed over the vial.

     “Ava’s drawing from the same place,” I said quietly. “The same power that’s been buried here for centuries. She’s not the first.”

     Tony nodded grimly. “But she might be the last.”

     Ava’s voice rose again, a strange, melodic chant that seemed to ripple through the air, twisting and distorting as it traveled. The warmth around her was intensifying, the very ground beneath us vibrating with the force of it.

     I stepped forward, my heart pounding in my chest. We were close now—closer than ever to the heart of the mystery that had been haunting us since the beginning. And I knew, deep down, that whatever Ava was drawing out of the land, whatever force she was unleashing, it wasn’t just hers. It belonged to the city, to the land, to the forgotten histories that had been buried beneath the surface for centuries.

     And just like Henry, just like all those who had come before, she was about to discover the cost of trying to control it.