I catch Tina’s gaze as she exits the sick bay to lean on the wall just outside it. She looks pale, but she raises a thumbs up in a shaky half-salute.
I give her a thumbs-up before Kol’s voice pulls me back.
“We try this,” he says, decision dropping into the space like a stone. Relief ripples through the room. “Sarven leads the stone team. Mih-kay-lah and Eh-ree-kah go. We send six more Drakav to move rock and guard. Haroth commands here. Zan?—”
“Yes, dra-dam,” Zan answers, arms still crossed.
“You watch for more sickness,” Kol says. “And for the rival clan.”
The word rival sparks a separate, sharper thread of tension through the group.
Haroth’s nostrils flare. Zan’s jaw clenches.
Kol’s eyes cut to me.
“You saw someone,” he says, his focus in the mindspace like being under a spotlight. “In the mist.”
How did he…? I don’t bother asking how he knows. I’m learning fast: in the mindspace, thoughts bleed. Secrets don’t really exist here, especially not when they come with this much fear attached. My memory of the face in the crack must be radiating off me like heat.
I nod, feeling Sarven’s unease spike in time with my own.
“Far,” I say. “High up through a crack. I didn’t recognize him. Sarven thinks it’s Lucek’s clan.”
I let the image of that distant figure rise again, sharing it with Kol, with Sarven, with anyone in the immediate mental splash zone.
A low murmur goes through the mindspace.
Kol’s face hardens.
“They have not stepped in our valley for many orbits,” he says. “If they send scouts now…”
Kol’s gaze swings back to Sarven and me.
“Go fast,” he says. “Make the water safe, but keep your eyes open. If you see a rival, you do not fight. You run. Bring word back.”
Sarven’s instinctive flare offightslams into that order like a wave hitting rock. He bristles.
“Run from a rival?” he protests. “Dra-dam?—”
Kol raises a claw, stopping the protest and silencing the mindspace all at once.
“I have many who can swing a spear,” he projects. “Not many who can make poison water drinkable. We do not throw spears with hands we need to heal, hm?”
A few of the Drakav push amusement through. Sarven releases a slow breath.
“Yes, dra-dam,” he says, bowing his head.
Zan still hasn’t unclenched.
His eyes flick over me like he’s assessing, measuring, maybe still not entirely convinced about the human girl who showed up and started tinkering with their resources. But there’s relief there too, and something like an apology he’ll never put into words.
“Don’t die,” he mutters.
“Wouldn’t dare,” I say.
Kol straightens, his decision radiating outward through the clan like a command drumbeat.
“Rok, Tharn, Vorn, Keth,” he calls, picking Drakav from the crowd. “You go with Sarven.” He points at a couple of other strong-looking ones. “You too. We need claws for rock. Daughters—” his gaze sweeps us. “—rest.”
