He shifts enough to avoid the full force of it, but not enough to avoid all of it.
The impact hits his side. Right where he is already hurt. His body jerks forward, driving through it. A low sound tears out of him—contained, controlled, but not entirely held—and something in my chest snaps tight in response.
He should not be able to move like that, but he does.
The filament strains between them, tension pulling both directions now as he twists, forcing it tighter around his arm, around the rock edge beside him. Using it. Trapping it.
The creature pulls harder.
The line vibrates, metal grinding against stone, sparks flicking briefly in the dim light as the tension spikes. For a second everything locks. Neither giving. Neither breaking.
“Now!” he snaps.
I don’t think. I move.
21
LEENA
We don’t run, we move.
There’s a difference. We’re no longer running in blind reaction, just trying to stay ahead of something we don’t understand. We’re choosing direction—fast, but deliberate.
I match him step for step as we push deeper into the tunnel, both of us listening, tracking, measuring the space instead of letting it control us. Behind us, the sound of shifting stone tells us it’s still following.
“It’s not pushing anymore,” I say, controlling my breath.
“No.”
“It’s learning the path.”
“Yes.”
Shit. Great.
I scan, forcing my focus outward instead of back, looking for anything we can use—anything that gives us an edge.
The tunnel curves, then dips, then widens. The ceiling lifts slightly, the walls pulling back into a rough pocket where the stone looks thinner, fractured in long, jagged lines that run overhead like stress cracks waiting to give. I slow.
“This,” I say.
His gaze tracks the ceiling, then the walls, then the ground beneath us, seeing the same unstable weakness I noted. A potential trap. He looks at me and nods.
“Yes.”
That’s all it takes. We move into position.
I go left, pressing myself against the narrowest part of the wall where the stone juts enough to break line of sight. He moves opposite, placing himself where the tunnel tightens just past the pocket.
We are creating a choke point, which is exactly what we need. Anticipation makes my heart beat faster. Sweat beads across my skin. I try to hold my breath, staying quiet.
I feel it coming through the stone, in the air, in the way the silence tightens before something breaks it.
“Wait for it,” I murmur.
He doesn’t answer. He’s so still. Every part of him coiled and ready.
The sound comes closer. It’s no longer crashing or forcing its way through. Now it’s sliding in a controlled, methodical manner.
