“Can you walk?”
“Yes.” A beat. “…with support.”
Good enough. We move forward, slower, but forward. Every step deliberate.
Behind us, the creature frees another section of its body, stone grinding, metal scraping, the sound carrying through the tunnel like a promise. It’s still coming. And it knows us.
I tighten my grip on him, and he doesn’t pull away or correct it. We move together. Not running, because this isn’t about speed anymore. It’s about surviving what’s coming next—and making sure we’re both still standing when it gets there.
We don’t get far, not because I want to stop, but because the tunnel splits. It narrows again, then divides. One path collapses inward into jagged stones; the other angles down into a tight, twisting descent that looks like it was carved fast and never meant to last. I slow, trying to decide between them.
“Down,” I say, moving before I finish it.
He doesn’t argue, and we take the drop.
The slope is sharper than it looked. Loose stone slides underfoot as we descend, forcing me to brace harder against him to keep us upright. He adjusts with me, not fighting the support, but using it.
Behind us, the sound changes. Less grinding. More movement. Faster. I’m beyond any ability to be more scared. Terror has been replaced by numbness I do not think can be penetrated any further.
“It’s free.”
“Yes,” I agree.
Of course it is.
The tunnel tightens as we go, forcing us closer, our shoulders brushing the walls. Every step is measured so we don’t losebalance and go down hard. We can’t afford that. Not now. Not with it this close.
The slope levels out suddenly, and I stumble, catching myself against the wall as the space opens into a narrow chamber. It’s smaller than the last—lower ceiling, tighter angles. Maybe we can use it.
I glance back. The glow appears almost immediately around the bend behind us. Closer than I expected. Too close.
“It’s faster,” I say.
“Yes.”
I scan the space quickly. Walls—solid. Ceiling—lower, but not fractured enough. Ground—my focus locks. The floor isn’t stable. Fine cracks run through it, subtle, almost invisible unless you’re looking for them, which I am.
“This isn’t set,” I say. “It’s hollow under here.”
His gaze drops, tracks, and sees it.
“Unstable.”
“Good,” I say, even though it isn’t.
Even though this could go very wrong. Behind us, it rounds the bend without pause. It comes straight in. Still locked. Still certain.
“We break the ground,” I say, already moving toward the center of the chamber. “If it commits its weight?—”
“It will.”
Of course it will.
We don’t have time to plan more than that. No time for anything else. I grab a loose stone, jagged enough to matter. He moves with me.
The creature enters the chamber. It pauses, sighting us, then moves closer. The filament snaps out. Two lines emerge, splitting. Coming for both of us.
“Down!”
