"Best way to fix a bad house is from the beams," he said. "Not the paint."
Elowen's gaze didn't leave the projection.
The blue light reflected in her golden eyes, making them look almost molten. Fear and fascination mixed there, swirling together.
"This is what you see," she said softly. "When you look at a dungeon."
Not just stone.
Not just monsters.
But currents, structures, weak points.
He glanced at her profile—the determined line of her jaw, the tired shadows under her eyes, the way one strand of hair had escaped and fallen against her cheek.
And this is what I want you to survive, he thought. Not just this dungeon. All of them.
"Sometimes," he answered. "Usually there's more screaming."
Cerys rolled her eyes.
"That was supposed to be reassuring?" she muttered.
"A little," he said. "Did it work?"
"No," she said flatly.
But the edge in her voice was less sharp than before.
Rodion's attention shifted, focusing the projection toward the hanging rings of light.
