The candle had melted down to a stub. Rachel had filled six pages, each line pulling more from instinct than thought. Her wrist ached. Her eyes burned.
She was reaching for the ink again when the voice came.
"It's not enough to look at what's there."
It was dry and hoarse, the kind of voice that came from a throat lined with ash and memory. Male, old, unhurried. It didn't echo. It simply existed, as though it had always been there, waiting for her to quiet down.
Rachel froze, hand hovering over the ink vial. Her fingers curled back.
"You've taken in what your eyes could offer," the voice said. "Now it's time to see without them."
She stayed seated. Her gaze swept the room, but nothing moved. None of the silent figures acknowledged her. The room was still thick with smoke and shadows. Nothing had changed.
Except everything had.
"This is your second test," the voice said. "Look again. But not with your sight."
