Not my water. Not that kind of water.
The water. The mission. The contamination slowly threading through the spring. Tina and Lucy burning with fever and cramps. The clan.
The word hits like a bucket of cold slush.
I let out a shaky, uneven breath and push my heels into the floor, easing my spine more firmly against the stone to create a sliver of space between us.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “The water.”
He jerks his chin, then he pulls back, too.
“We go?” Sarven asks quietly.
I look up at him.
He’s wrestled himself back under control, as much as either of us can. His shoulders are squared. His expression has slipped from raw and wrecked back into something closer to the hunter I first met out in the dust. The only signs of strain are the faint tremor in his hand as he adjusts the strap at his waist, and the way his pupils are still dominating his eyes.
“Yeah,” I say. “We go.”
We leave the relative safety of the niche as Sarven hoists me up the high ledge, settling me on the upper path before following. The passage curves. The sound of water shifts, growing louder and fuller. This isn’t the thin, sick trickle from the higher seep. This is deeper. Broader.
My skin prickles. From nerves, from the barely-there rope of sensation tied between my mind and his? I can’t tell.
“We’re close,” I murmur, more to myself than to him.
Behind me, Sarven makes a low sound that holds both agreement and warning.
“Water… big,” he says.
I square my shoulders.
Then I step forward into the misting, unnatural heat of the spring.
Chapter 15
WE ARE STILL NOT DISCUSSING THE WET SPOT
MIKAELA
The tunnel spits us out into something so big my brain forgets how to categorize it.
I step forward, and the ground just… falls away.
A ledge curves out beneath my shoes, sloping gently downward and opening onto a cavern so vast my sense of scale throws up its hands and walks away. The ceiling soars high overhead, ribbed with polished stone that seems to catch and cradle every scrap of light.
Because there is light.
A single shaft spears down through the darkness from some crack far above, a perfect column of Ain’s harsh gold. It strikes the center of a wide, still pool, turning the water there into molten metal.
“Holy shit,” I whisper. The words echo back to me.
Beside me, Sarven makes a low sound in his chest, something between a growl and a purr.
But as I take a breath, the reality hits me.
It’s not cool here.
The air shimmers above the water, full of steam and humidity. It feels like walking into a tropical greenhouse. Moisture beads on my skin instantly, mixing with the sweat I’ve already worked up.
