Sean found the depression by feel—a shallow circle tucked beside a painted prow. He pressed the medallion in. It seated with a cold kiss of stone on metal.Nothing—then a low, waking groan rolled through the chamber. Dust lifted in rings from the glyphs. Somewhere deep inside the wall, teeth met teeth.“Turn it,” Jessica whispered.Quarter turn right—click.The fresco split along a hairline seam. Another turn—left this time—released a heavy latch. Sean felt the vibration in his knuckles.“Back,” he warned.The panel sank an inch, exhaled a long breath of stale, mineral-cold air, then slid aside. Behind it: a narrow throat of stair cut into raw rock, climbing into a draft that smelled of rain and smoke.They slipped through.The steps rose tight and steep. Twice, Sean stopped them—once to lift a hair-fine bronze line off a peg, another time to skirt a pressure plate cupped with centuries of grit.“Old doesn’t mean harmless,” he muttered.“Neither do you,” Jessica said, breathless but s
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