“Enough,” he growls. “Fear is loud. Do not feed it.”
I curl my fingers tighter around the shard, ignoring the cold biting my skin.
“If the plants are absorbing whatever this leached into the soil, the carok might have, too,” I say, thinking out loud. “The pattern fits—systemic decay, internal burns, neurological disruption. If we find the main wreck, we might be able to stop the spread. Or at least warn everyone how far it has reached.”
“And if the main wreck leaks more than this?” Travnyk asks. “If the air itself becomes poison?”
Rakkh goes still. For a long moment, he says nothing. His gaze fixes on the shard, then lifts to meet mine, and there is no giving ground in the dark of his eyes.
“Then we move our people,” he says. “Again.” His jaw flexes. “But not until we know.”
He says our like it includes humans, Zmaj, Urr’ki—all of us. The word hits me harder than the cold metal.
Our.
I tuck the shard into my pack, wrapping it in a scrap of cloth so it does not touch my skin directly. I do not know why, but it feels like I am carrying a piece of someone else’s nightmare.
“How far do you think the wreck is?” Tomas asks, voice quieter now.
I think of the dying vine. The blackened bushes. The carok.
“Farther than this,” I say. “But not by much. The contamination is too concentrated to be random.”
“The ground feels… thinner. As if something huge sleeps beneath it,” Travnyk agrees, nodding.
Rakkh’s gaze cuts to him sharply.
“Nothing sleeps out here.”
The wind chooses that moment to pick up, sliding a breath of cold air through the alcove. It carries the faint, unmistakable scent we have been dancing around all night.
Predator.
Rakkh is on his feet in an instant.
He moves so fast I barely track it—one heartbeat he is seated, the next his wings unfurl to block most of the opening. His claws sink into the sand. His tail curves protectively inward, brushing my ankle like a living barrier.
“Stay behind me,” he says, voice gone low and deadly.
My hand goes to my knife automatically, though I know it is laughable against whatever is out there. Still. I grip it tight. My world has narrowed to four things: the cold weight in my pocket, the warm press of his tail, the rasp of my own breath, and the whisper of shifting sand outside.
Travnyk rises without a word, sliding along the outer rock. Tomas rolls to his knees, eyes wide, trying to peer past Rakkh’s bulk.
The dunes beyond the alcove look empty. They always look empty, right before something decides you are prey. The sand to our right twitches. Just a little. Just enough.
Rakkh’s entire body tenses, every muscle going taut at once. His wings flare wider, shielding more of the opening, forcing me back until my shoulders hit the cool stone wall.
“Lia.” He does not look at me, but his voice reaches me like a physical touch. “If it breaches, you run behind the rocks. You do not look back.”
“I am not leaving you,” I whisper.
His growl rumbles through the stone.
“You will live,” he says. “That is not a request.”
The sand bulges again. Higher this time.
A line ripples across the dune like something huge dragging its spine just beneath the surface. It circles once, twice, testing, then stops directly in front of our narrow shelter.
