The descent through the central basalt core of Isle Saint-Obsidian felt like an agonizing journey through the circles of the underworld. Camille avoided the main elevators, knowing that security control monitored all executive transit channels. Instead, she took the narrow spiral maintenance stairway that twisted down through two hundred feet of solid volcanic rock—the ancient emergency route used by Venetian sentries eight centuries ago. Water dripped steadily from the vaulted…
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