Haroth’s chest puffs at that. “Four,” he corrects automatically.
“Then four,” I agree, letting him have the extra.
Zan huffs, but does not argue. He positions himself near Haroth instead, eyes on the ceiling where the cracks spider out.
Mih-kay-lah adjusts her grip on the basket. “Where do you want me?” she asks in her rapid tongue, then stops when she sees my confusion. She taps her chest, points to the ledge, then makes a small circling motion with her finger.
Order.
“With… me,” I say, tapping the air in front of my chest. “I go… front. You… behind.”
It is not perfect, but if the ledge goes, I will know first. I will be between her and the open air.
Heat rises along the back of her neck, blooming just beneath the tidy rows of her bound hair. Her scent shifts, sharpening with something that is not fear.
I tilt my head, curious.
She mutters something under her breath then. Quick. I catch only pieces.
“Okay… follow the giant glowing wall of muscle. Don’t look at the death drop. Just… eyes on the assets. No, not those assets. Shut up, Mikaela.”
She is chanting a nervous rhythm. I feel her eyes locked on my glow. She is using me as a beacon to keep from panicking.
If she wants to look at my back, I will give her something worth watching.
I straighten my spine, roll my shoulders once, and step onto the ledge.
The drop yawns to my right, full of cold air and moving water. There is no bottom, just black.
Behind me, Mih-kay-lah’s footsteps are small and careful. Her scale-tunic scratches faintly against the rough stone.
Twice, she wobbles.
Each time, I edge my glow a little brighter, spreading light along the rock so she can read every crack.
Ahead, the thread of water shows itself as a thin silver line along the wall, dripping down into tiny channels carved by time.
Mih-kay-lah makes a small sound at the sight.
The water looks like the pool we use for bathing. Clear, restless, eager to move.
But the smell is not the same.
I lean in, drawing it deep into my nose.
The wrongness is stronger here. It burns.
“Worse,” I project. I force the word in mouth-speak through my throat. “Strong.”
She inhales too, her nose wrinkling. “It still smells fine to me, which actually makes me terrified.”
We keep moving.
The ledge narrows further, forcing me to turn. I angle my body so my back faces the drop and my front faces the stone. Mikaela copies the movement behind me.
The path is barely wider than my shoulders now.
Every time I step, her body brushes mine.
