Where the Mist Meets the Mountain

Previously

…I quickly closed the journal, my mind racing. I had to get out of here, and I had to do it before he found me. But I couldn’t leave empty-handed. I grabbed the second locket, tucking it into my pocket alongside my father’s. The journals were too bulky, too incriminating. I’d have to come back for them, or find another way. Clutching my lamp, I turned back towards the passage, my heart a heavy drum against my ribs. The darkness seemed to press in, alive and watchful. The mist, I suspected, was more than just weather. It was a veil, a protector. And I had just ripped a hole in it. The adventure, I realized with a chilling certainty, had only just begun.