“Careful,” I say, even though I’m the one who almost went down.
His breath hitches in pain. I feel it and ignore it. I have to keep us moving. Forward toward… something. Hope. Dim, but I cling to it. Survival. As long as we’re alive, there is hope.
The space opens just enough to give us a choice: left or right. One path narrows into darkness, tight and jagged. The other curves wider, smoother. Too smooth.
“Left.”
He doesn’t question it. The tighter path forces us into each other again, my arm locked around him, his weight leaning heavier into me as the ceiling drops and the walls press in.
Good. Let it choke the space. I hope it slows it down.
Behind us, I hear it hit the turn and commit. The sound of it fills the tunnel. Metal dragging against stone, something heavier in the rhythm where the damage slowed it—but not enough.
I risk a glance back, and the eye is there. Closer than I’d hoped. Tracking.
“Not good,” I breathe.
“No.”
I tighten my grip on him.
“Can you give me more?” I ask, low, controlled. “Just a little.”
A pause. Then?—
“Yes.”
The word is forced, dragged up from somewhere deeper than strength. His posture shifts. Less dead weight and more movement. That’s everything.
We push forward, faster, the tunnel narrowing further, forcing us into a near crawl in places, ducking, turning, adjusting every second stretched thin. Behind us, it follows. Relentless.
The tunnel bends again, then opens into a small chamber with a low, cracked ceiling. Not as clean as the last one. Not as perfect. But something. I slow, not stopping, thinking.
The ground is uneven and loose. The walls are tight enough to force an angle. It’s not a trap, but maybe?—
“Here,” I say.
We move into position, instinct pulling us into place, shaping the space the way we can, because that’s all we have left. No strength in either of us, only a choice. We press against the wall, waiting.
It comes slower, more cautious than before. It’s learning. Good, I was counting on that. I shift my weight, adjusting and bracing him. Setting us, I wait.
The moment it enters the chamber, I move.
A shift of weight. A step that looks like adjustment instead of intention, pulling Kael with me enough to change our angle and make the ground between us and it the weakest point in the room.
The eye flicks to the movement, but it doesn’t strike. It’s learned that too.
“It’s slowing itself,” I whisper.
“Yes.”
It’s waiting for the right moment, so we take it first.
I tighten my hold on Kael, bracing, then drive my heel down hard into the loose section of the floor.
Once. Nothing. Again.
The ground shifts.
