Silence slams over the group. Travnyk studies me. Tomas looks betrayed. And Rakkh… Rakkh steps closer. His shadow swallows mine whole.
“She is right,” he says, voice rough and final.
Tomas stumbles backward like he has been struck.
“You are agreeing with her? Why? Why are we even listening to her? She is not a warrior—she is not?—”
“Choose your next words carefully,” Rakkh growls, cutting him off, a low warning that vibrates through the sand.
Tomas clamps his mouth shut so hard his teeth clack together. He blinks back tears. Travnyk raises one hand in a gesture of calm.
“Let us speak of truth. The girl follows the plants. The sickness follows the roots. The beasts follow the sickness,” Travnyk says. He touches the dead creature behind us with his toe. “If we do not find the source, all of us, all three races die.”
“But if something is out here—if something dangerous is waiting—” Tomas says, shaking his head.
“It already is,” I whisper, staring at the shifting dune behind us.
The sand trembles softly. Patient, watching, waiting. Tomas swallows hard.
“You can stay behind,” I say. “Or you can go back. No shame in it.”
He trembles. Looks at the dune. At me. At Rakkh. Then?—
“No.” His voice shakes. “I’m scared as hell, but I’m not leaving you out here alone.”
Despite everything, warmth flickers in my chest. Rakkh steps closer until he is shoulder to shoulder with me.
“We move forward,” Rakkh says, looking at Tomas. “All of us.”
He waits until Tomas nods. Travnyk touches the hilt of his curved blade. When he nods, the decision solidifies. We continue.
The drag-trail winds deeper between the dunes. Chemical rot thickens in the air, sharper, more acidic, like scorched minerals mixed with something bitter. Every breath stings the back of my throat. Rakkh walks so close our shoulders almost brush.
“Stay near,” he murmurs.
“You keep saying that. Am I doing anything else?” I whisper back.
He smiles, shaking his head, but does not respond. His double heartbeat thrums steady and protective. Loud enough that I feel it more than hear it. I should not like the sound as much as I do. Ahead, the moonlight catches on another shape half-buried beneath drifting sand.
“Oh,” I whisper, stopping.
Rakkh crouches in an instant, wings spreading slightly to block the wind. Tomas curses softly. Travnyk kneels beside us, frowning. I brush the sand aside.
A panel of metal gleams up at me—larger than the shard I pocketed. Curved. Seamless. Etched with grooves that pulse with a dim sheen. I run my finger over it.
“Oh stars,” I breathe. “This isn’t human. This isn’t anything I’ve ever seen.”
Rakkh’s claws dig into the sand beside my hand. His voice comes low, dangerous.
“Do not touch it.”
“I already—” I swallow hard. “I already did.”
He inhales sharply. His hand closes around my wrist—gentle for him, but firm enough that I feel the tremble beneath his scales.
“You should not have.”
“I had to,” I whisper. “Have to know…”
