Tobias kneels on the damp grass and presses his ear flat against the nearest column. Up close, the warmth is steadier than he expected — not the leftover heat of a summer afternoon, but something deeper, as though it lives inside the stone and has always been there. He holds very still. And then, beneath the silence, he hears it: a low, slow pulse, the way you might hear your own heartbeat if you buried your face in a pillow. One beat. A pause long enough to count to three. Another beat. It is not his heart. The fairy has gone very still on his shoulder, wings folded tight, violet eyes fixed on the column rather than the tower. The pulse comes again, and this time Tobias feels it travel up through his jaw and settle somewhere behind his ribs. The stone knows he is here. He is almost certain of it.