“So even if we could blow it up, it wouldn’t open?” asked Enrique.

Zofia shook her head.

“The wall reacted to something earlier. There was a moment when it went translucent,” said Séverin. “What was it? What happened?”

Zofia: “Water?”

Enrique: “Singing?”

Hypnos: “Hopefully not the wave of the undead?”

“Many Forged objects come with a release mechanism, some sort of hint between artist and audience—” said Séverin, reaching for one of the matches and the lantern.

“Those are the rules set forth by the Order of Babel,” said Hypnos. “This place … it feels different. Even that mind Forging song of the sirens was unlike anything I’ve ever heard. It was … alive?”

Enrique shuddered. “It’s almost as if this place has a consciousness of its own.”

Séverin rapped his knuckles on the wall. “The intensity might be due to its proximity to the source of all Forging … and if the place has a consciousness of its own, then that’s good.”

“How?” demanded Hypnos. “This cave could just as easily decide that it’s done watching us dither about, and have the lake swallow us whole!”

“It’s good because … like any living thing, it possesses a desire for self-preservation,” said Séverin. He raised his torch light to the craggy walls of the obsidian cave. “I imagine that if any part of it were truly threatened, there would be hints to free whatever lay inside or access it so that the knowledge would not be lost forever.”

The wall of rock stretched out like a shorn mirror. Laila’s face reflected back a thousand times, and she sucked in her breath as she stared at her bruised cheek, the cut along her lip, her sunken eyes, and her lank hair.

Broken doll, broken doll, chanted a cruel part of her mind. Dimly, Laila remembered every evening she’d spent dancing in the Palais des Rêves, her face made up to perfection, her reflection glowing in the champagne room lined with mirrors and chandeliers. But beneath all the shining smiles and pearls stood the real L’Enigme: bruised and too sharp, death on her hand and mysteries in her blood. The cave was not showing her anything she did not already know about herself, and Laila refused to be cowed.

For the first time in the past hour, feeling flared into the tips of her fingers. She curled her hand, feeling the pinching stiffness of cold. She smiled and then reached forward. The moment her skin touched stone, an alien awareness shoved against her hand.

Laila recoiled instantly.

“What was that?” she said loudly.

Séverin frowned. “What was … what?”

Laila’s glance slid to the wall.

“The wall … it has emotion to it. It’s like Enrique said. There’s a consciousness at work here.”

Hypnos whimpered. “I hate this place.”

“What emotion are you reading?” asked Séverin.

Hesitantly, Laila placed her hand back against the rock. She expected that rush of alien awareness to be annoyed … hostile, even. But it was warm. Yielding.