His arms flex around my middle. He hesitates for a split second, probably feeling the way I’m vibrating against him like a tuning fork.
But scared and buried alive is not on today’s to-do list.
I pat his forearm, the muscles there like granite under my fingertips. “We move,” I say clearly, pointing along the narrow curve of rock. “There.”
“Hm.” His answering grunt vibrates through his chest into my back.
He shifts as if he’s about to stand, then pauses, frowning down at the non-space around us.
Right. We’re folded together like awkward, upright cuddle origami. Zero clearance. There is no dignified way to untangle from this.
I try anyway. I plant my feet, but the basket in my hands makes climbing off his lap feel like one of those carnival games designed to make you look stupid.
“Can you hold this?” I ask, holding the basket up.
His arms unlock slowly. The absence of pressure around my ribs lets in an immediate rush of air that is colder than it has any right to be. I have to fight the sudden, ridiculous urge to grab those arms and put them right back where they were.
He takes the basket carefully, not jostling the precious little collection of filtration items inside. I watch as he inspects it, like it’s some kind of strange tool, then ties the handle to a leather strap on his hip.
“Okay, Mikaela, you can do this,” I whisper to myself. I spread my hands flat against the rock on either side, fingers stretching for more purchase than exists, and slowly shift my weight forward off his thighs.
The ledge makes a small, protesting sound. A creak. Stone does not creak. Wood creaks. Boats creak. Houses in bad weather creak.
The rock beneath my shoes… murmurs.
My heart tries to exit my body through my ribs. I almost miss my next foothold.
“S’okay,” I mutter, not sure if I’m talking to myself, the stone, or the alien behind me. “It’s fine. It’s stone. It’s… mostly fine.”
A large, warm hand closes gently around my waist. There’s the slightest tug, a correction of my center of gravity, pulling me nearer to the wall, away from the open air.
Between my shaking legs, the unreliable ledge, and my brain screamingwe’re going to die, just getting upright feels like relearning how to walk. But Sarven moves with me, rising in one smooth, controlled push, one hand braced against the wall, the other a steadying weight at my lower back.
We get our feet under us. I flatten myself against the rock, glue my gaze forward, and absolutely do not look at the void to my right.
“Okay,” I say again, voice only barely shaking. This time it’s as much for him as for me. I tap the wall ahead. “We go. Slow.”
His red eyes are already scanning: above, below, across. He’s not just looking; he’s reading the stone like a second language. He says something clipped and firm, and my translator turns it into: “Stay. Close.”
As if I’m about to go waltzing off on my own right now.
He reaches past me, palm pressed flat to the rock, his glowing forearm throwing a pool of light over the ledge in front of my shoes.
And then we move.
It feels like sneaking along the lip of a nightmare. The ledge pinches in, relaxes a little, then tightens again. Once, the ceiling dips low enough that Sarven has to duck, crowding his heat even closer along my back. Our world shrinks down to pale stone, warm gold light, and the soft scrape of my shoes.
Behind us, Haroth and Zan’s glows fade until they’re just small, distant hints of gold through dust.
The sound of water shifts as we go. It’s still there, but it’s muffled now. Off to the right. Further down below us. The air grows colder, the moisture in it heavier.
After what feels like hours but is probably only a few very long minutes, the wall ahead changes. The stone bulges inward, creating a shallow indentation—an alcove cut back from the ledge. It’s maybe three of my strides across, just deep enough that if you step into it, the drop stops trying to kiss your toes.
It’s not exactly cozy, but compared to the narrow balcony of death we just walked, it looks like an Airbnb with five-star reviews and free breakfast.
Sarven tests the stone with his foot, then his fist against the back wall, then finally with his fingers tracing fissures in the ceiling above it. He listens with his whole body, glow dimming as he concentrates.
I hold my breath without meaning to.
