The ground in the final section had been treated with something that made it luminescent in patches — faint, greenish, the color of things that glow in the dark in ways that things are not supposed to glow. The patches were arranged to look like handprints. She counted fourteen of them across the path leading to the central tomb, each one clearly pressed by an actual hand, each one now giving off enough cold light to be visible and wrong.
She walked over every single one.
