Stela Sera paused, the candlelight reflecting in her eyes. The air tasted of dust and something sweeter—like sugared plums left too long. She reached out, her fingers brushing against the dripping wax of the heart-shaped chandelier above. A silent offering, perhaps? Or simply ensuring it burned bright enough to guide him through the shadowed passage. He’d been late again, but she knew he would come. The symbols pulsed with a soft light, and Stela waited, cross in hand, for his return.