Until the men in suits came for her brother.

Now, as they scrambled up a granite slope slick with moss, Tessa understood. The suits weren't government. They weren't police. They were collectors. And the key wasn't for a lock—it was for the mountain itself.

The mountain answered. A low thrum vibrated up through the bedrock, a frequency that matched Leo’s pulse. Tessa felt it in her marrow. Ahead, the observatory’s dome emerged from the mist—not rusted and abandoned as the maps showed, but clean, its metal skin rippling with soft blue light.