The silence after the collapse of the heart was absolute, yet it pressed down on them like a palpable weight, thick and stifling, as if the structure itself exhaled its final judgment. Maya, Arman, and Tarek lay on the bottom of the massive chamber, cases heaving, sweat running in streamlets down their faces, the tablet still gripped tightly against Maya’s casket. Indeed in its stillness, the essay eye flitted noiselessly, a quiet twinkle echoing the faint meter of their own, as if advising them that the fight was n't truly over. The murk were gone — or at least, the bones