Adam set his cup down slowly, the ceramic clicking against the worn wood of the bench. His voice came out quiet, but there was an edge beneath it.
"What do you mean by that? When I went in there, the dungeon was normal."
The old man didn't look at him. He kept his eyes on the dark entrance of the Dream Grave, steam curling from his own cup.
"That's because your mind is strong," he said. "This place can't touch someone like you. And you entered with others. You had people to anchor you, to remind you of what was real."
He took a slow sip of his tea.
"But that woman went in alone, and her mind is troubled. The Dream Grave won't let someone like her wander freely inside."
Adam was on his feet before the old man finished speaking.
"Then I have to go get her."
The old man shook his head slowly.
"I'm sorry, but that won't work."
Adam turned on him, eyes sharp and burning.
"Why not?"
The old man raised a hand, palm open, calm as still water.
