“It is adjusting,” I say, matching Kaelreth’s pace as the tunnel curves tighter.
“Yes,” he agrees. No hesitation or denial, which, though true, does nothing to help.
The air changes as we push deeper, cooler still and even thinner. The tunnel narrows enough that our shoulders brush the walls if we do not angle ourselves just right. Every step matters. Every second.
Beside me, his movement is different. Still controlled. Still precise. But I see the cost. The way his stride shortens when he thinks I am not looking. The way his breathing shifts when the tunnel dips and he has to compensate.
He is managing the wound and the pain, but it is there.
The tunnel splits. One path drops lower, tighter, almost choking itself off into darkness. The other widens, a little, curving upward toward a faint, dull glow filtering through a crack somewhere above.
“Which one?”
He does not stop, but I feel the calculation.
“Down.”
Of course he chooses the tighter, harder path. It will be better cover.
We take the lower path, ducking into it as the ceiling drops and the space compresses, forcing us closer together. Forcing every movement into tighter, more deliberate motion.
Behind us the sound changes. Less impact, more like something pushing through instead of breaking through. It is learning.
“It is adapting,” I say, breath controlled despite the pace.
“Yes.”
“It is not forcing through anymore. It is?—”
“Optimizing.”
The word should not fit, but it does and fear spikes in response. Cold trails over my limbs, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
“That is not better.”
“No.”
The tunnel tightens further, forcing us into single file. The air is so thin that it is harder to pull in enough of it. Harder to keep moving at this speed. My shoulder scrapes the wall, and I ignore it and keep going.
The ground dips suddenly. Loose stone shifts under my foot and I slip. His hand is there in an instant, catching me before I go down, steadying me with a grip that is firm but controlled.
“I am good,” I say automatically.
“You were not.”
Flat and accurate. I push forward anyway. We do not have time for anything else. The tunnel curves sharply. I feel him slow more than see it.
“What—”
I round the bend and stop. The tunnel is open. Wider. Too wide. The ceiling rises enough that the space does not feel contained anymore, does not feel like protection. It feels like a pocket. A trap.
And in the center of it the ground is wrong. It is not smooth and solid. It is disturbed.
Like something has already been through here recently.
“This is not a natural break,” I say quietly.
“No.”
