We wait, counting the seconds. The next time the worm passes, it’s moving slower, as if tired or just savoring the chase. I wonder if it gets bored, if it even remembers why it’s hunting us.
As soon as the sound fades, I grab Ashton’s hand and crawl, sword clamped in one hand. The mud sucks at my knees, the tunnel tilts down, and the ceiling is so low I feel it scraping my back. Ashton is right behind me, never getting far from me.
The tunnel splits again, this time three ways. One is back the way we came. The second is where the worm is currently patrolling. The third is narrow but clean, the walls scraped smooth, as if something smaller than the worm uses it.
I hesitate, but Ashton nudges me toward the third. “We haven’t got any other options,” he whispers.
We squeeze into the side tunnel, barely wide enough for my shoulders. The sword is a pain in the ass, but I continue carrying it, the tip scraping the wall. Ashton crawls behind, his breath ragged.
We creep forward. The air changes, less rotten, more like wet leaves. My head buzzes from the strain, but I keep going.
We lose track of time. Maybe an hour, maybe five minutes. Every so often, I hear the worm in the main tunnel, thrashing, shrieking. But it never comes down this way.
Not that it could.Could it?
Eventually, the tunnel opens, just a little, into a space filled with glowing fungus. It’s not bright, but it’s something. I sag to the ground, every muscle shaking.
Ashton collapses next to me. “Okay, this is something” he says, voice so low I barely hear it.
I want to say it’s not over, that we’re still trapped here, with very little water, and very little food in our packs, being hunted by a giant worm, but for a moment, I just let myself breathe.
We rest, back to back, eyes on the flickering glow.
The worm is still out there. I know it. But for now, we’re alive.
I don’t know how long we sit there, breathing fungus air and waiting for the next disaster. My brain keeps running over everything I’ve been through since entering that cottage like a looped nightmare: the sound of the worm smashing the cottage, the dark rushing in, Ashton’s hand crushing mine until I thought my bones would snap. I want to ask him if he’s okay, but the words lodge in my throat and rot there.
Finally, Ashton speaks. “There’s no way out in this direction, and the worm is carefully guarding the other direction…”
I want to yell at him for stating the obvious, but he’s not looking at me. He’s staring up at the ceiling, looking lost in thought.
“Unless,” he says, voice so low I barely hear him, “Do you trust me?”
That gets my attention. “What do you mean?”
He swallows, jaw working. “There’s a trick I can do. Wind fae only, well, maybe not even most of them. My father taught me before…” He trails off. “I haven’t mastered it. No one has mastered it. I’ve only done it a few times before, and that was when I was a kid.”
“What?” I have no idea where he could be taking this.
“I could use the air and… lift us out.”
“Fly us out of here?” I ask in shock.
He shakes his head. “Not fly. Just… lift. If I can catch the updraft, we might make it to the top.”
I remember the hole, remember how far away it was. “It’s a hundred feet, minimum. And that’s if the worm doesn’t just eat us like fish on a line.”
He gives a miserable laugh. “Exactly. So if we do this, you have to trust me. No matter what. You have to stay calm and quiet, so we don’t attract the worm’s attention.”
I look at the sword, then at my hands. “What if it doesn’t work?”
He doesn’t answer right away, before finally giving a humorless laugh. “Then I guess we die together.”
I hate this plan, but I hate sitting here more. “Fine. I trust you.”
He looks at me, really looks, and something in his face softens. “You do?”
My cheeks heat. “Don’t make me say it again.”
