“I know.”
My claws dig deeper into the sand. Something out here is waiting. Something that knows we are approaching. Lia steps forward, as determined and brave as ever. Too brave for what hunts us. I move to block her path.
“Slow.”
She looks up sharply. “Why?”
“Because something is watching,” I say softly.
She stills and Tomas stumbles to a halt.
“Oh gods. How many creatures live out here?” Tomas moans.
“Enough,” Travnyk murmurs.
Lia’s throat bobs. She tightens her grip on her knife.
“Then we move carefully,” she says.
Her pulse flutters—fear, yes, but also focus. She is assessing, not panicking. Thinking. Always thinking. I lower my voice so only she can hear.
“You fought well.”
“I… didn’t fight. I just saw—” she says, blinking, startled.
“What no one else did,” I finish. “You saved us. Again.”
Her breath catches. She looks away, cheeks flushed. This girl. This small, fierce, impossible girl. Every instinct in me—every old wound, every guarded piece—tightens around this truth. I cannot lose her.
Not because she is the key to the sickness. Not because she entrusted her life to me. Not even because the metal responds to her. But because something inside me recognized her long before I could admit it, even to myself.
“We need to make camp soon,” I say, forcing my tone steady. “You need rest.”
She opens her mouth to argue. I step closer.
“Lia,” I warn softly. “Even the strongest burn out.”
Her breath trembles. “And you?”
“I do not rest,” I say simply. “Not while you are out here.”
I watch her pulse thumping in her neck. It seems even the desert is leaning closer, listening. Her mouth tightens, pursing her lips. I want, so much, to kiss her, but I hold, waiting for her to agree.
When she finally nods, it’s as if the entire group exhales as one. The tension eases. I restrain myself to a simple nod, then we resume our journey, looking for shelter so we can attempt to rest.
The creature’s stench clings to my claws, sharp in my nose. I hate it. I hate the reminder that she—Lia—was inches from death. That my hearts hammer not from battle, but from the feel of her pressed against me.
Focus.
The dunes ahead shift subtly, and I’m not sure if it is the wind or something else. Unease whispers over my scales. I taste corruption on the wind, chemical rot carried from the poison seeping through the planet and from those cursed metal fragments she keeps touching.
Everyone is moving slower. Feet shuffling, heads drooping. They need sleep, but not here in the open. Travnyk suddenly stops, nostrils flaring. He lifts a hand, calling for us to halt. He studies the desert, but I do not see what has his attention.
“Shelter,” he murmurs. “Stone. Hollow. Safe.”
He moves toward a jagged spine of dark volcanic rock jutting out of the dune. I follow, placing myself between the formation and the others. Lia stays at my shoulder. Every stride I feel her heat through the air between us.
Travnyk brushes sand from a narrow crease in the stone and a shadow opens beneath it. A cavern mouth. Shallow, but sheltered. One entrance. Defensible. My muscles loosen by a fraction.
