Venturing forward, Hilary's shoes skidding on the polished marble floor, the scale of the place solidified. Enormous. Intimidating. “This is where the indoctrination ceremony will be held,” Chantal said, taking in the space herself with an air of appreciation. “Tomorrow.” Unlike the solid black exterior, the courtyard was ringed in a scaffolding of glass walls and steel balconies and rising from the center of the stone floor—in the exact spot any sane resort designer would have slotted for a pool, lounge chairs, and a sexy high-end bar—like an atoll in an otherwise still sea, stood an odd cage of wrought iron. The metaphoric balustrade was all too literal, it seemed. An ornate raised rail surrounded a stone stair descending into a darkness so bleak, Hilary began to feel a stitch behind her eye, a sharp pain that disintegrated into a dull ache when she looked away and quickly returned when she reset her eyes on the strange structure.
