I almost refuse. Almost. But I cannot deny the brilliance in her eyes—the fierce, fearless spark that has led us through every danger we’ve encountered so far.
“We proceed. With caution,” I exhale slowly.
Her smile—small, weary, proud—nearly undoes me again.
As she kneels beside the widening seam, sketching the metal curvature in the sand, the violet pulse flickers once more from deep within the structure. Calling. Searching. Recognizing. And I realize, with cold certainty, that this buried thing does not want Travnyk. Or Tomas. Or me.
It wants her.
And over my dead body will it have her.
The dune settles, but the echoes crawl through my bones.
Lia’s scent—fear, determination, the sharp edge of adrenaline—clings to my tongue. Her warmth lingers against my chest where I hold her. I should step away. Put distance between us. But I hold her longer. Unable—no, unwilling—to let go. I hold her too long. She trembles once, barely perceptible, but I feel it.
Then there is another rumble beneath the sand. Deeper and wider. Travnyk steps closer, eyes wide in alarm.
“That was not the machine,” he says softly. “That was some kind of burrower.”
Lia’s gaze snaps to the dune. She hears it too. Feels it. Her fear isn’t sharp; it is a cold, heavy, thinking fear.
“We need shelter,” she says. “Something is moving out there.”
I nod once. “We withdraw. Slowly.”
Tomas doesn’t wait—he stumbles backward, breath shallow, eyes wide.
“I don’t—I can’t—another monster?—”
“Quiet,” I snap. “Noise draws predators.”
He swallows his panic, but only barely. His hands shake so hard the small knife he carries clatters against his thigh.
Lia steps forward before I can stop her, placing a steadying hand on his arm. Her touch anchors him. Her voice steadies him. She does it without thinking, without hesitation, and I feel something hot twist low in my chest at the sight. She has courage enough for all of us.
Travnyk lifts his head, scenting the wind. He growls, a low rumbling sound.
“A predator draws closer,” he murmurs. “Fast.”
“The dune just—just moved! Something huge is coming—” Tomas chokes on a panicked breath.
“Silence,” I snarl, low and sharp. “Noise will bring it faster.”
Lia turns to the widening seam of metal and sand, eyes bright with fear, but also something calmer beneath it.She’s calculating escape routes, safe zones, airflow, structural stability. She is unlike any human I’ve known.
Her hand slides along the ship’s exposed hull. The grooves beneath her fingertips pulse faintly—blue, soft, breathing with her touch, like the ship knows her—and I hate that. I hate the way it responds to her. I hate that anything other than me pays that kind of attention to her body.
The dune behind us convulses—sand shooting upward in a spray. A tremor hits the earth hard enough that Lia stumbles. I catch her waist because I cannot allow her to fall. Not here, with danger rising around us like jaws. Her fingers tighten on my arm. For a moment, I forget the entire desert exists. Then the dune heaves a second time.
“Inside,” I say.
Travnyk frowns. “Inside the metal? We do not know what sleeps there.”
“No, but we do know that something hunts out here,” I growl. “Choose.”
Tomas chooses for all of us—bolting toward the open seam in the ship’s hull before he can lose his nerve. Travnyk follows, sliding down the angled slab of metal with practiced control. Lia stands frozen—half from fear, half from awe. The ship hums beneath her hand, light blooming under her palm like a pulse answering her heartbeat.
“Lia,” I say.
