LEENA
We don’t get another chamber; instead, we come to a fracture.
A jagged seam where the rock has shifted and settled into something barely passable. I slow enough to measure it and know we have no choice.
“Through,” I say.
We turn sideways together, forcing into the narrow break as stone presses in from both sides, scraping skin, catching fabric, stealing space we don’t have. I swear it’s going to rip my tits off, but I keep pushing. He stumbles, and I adjust, pulling to keep him upright.
“Stay with me,” I murmur, more breath than voice.
“I… remain.”
Thinner still. He’s fading, but I can’t stop to help. That thing is coming. I hear it hit the split behind us. The sound of metal grinding as it forces itself into a space it doesn’t fit.
Good. Let it fight the tunnel. Let it work for every inch while we push through. Every movement is measured so we don’t wedge ourselves, don’t lose balance, don’t?—
He slips.
His weight drops onto me, too heavy and too uncontrolled for a fraction too long. My knees give, and if not for the tightness of the walls, I’d be down.
“Kael.” He doesn’t answer.
I tighten my grip, doing all I can to force him upright. I brace and adjust our angle so he doesn’t drag us both down.
“Stay with me,” I say again, sharper as panic surges.
His breath catches. A flicker.
“I… am…”
The words don’t finish, but the effort is there. He’s there. I take it.
We clear the tightest part of the split and stumble into the next stretch of tunnel, wider by inches, not enough to matter, but enough that I can shift him, reposition, keep us moving.
I don’t look back because I don’t need to. I feel it closing in on us. The sound of it scraping through the split, still coming.
My chest tightens—not only in fear, but something harder. Colder.
“We stop,” I say.
The words surprise even me. He doesn’t respond right away, but I feel the shift in him. His attention sharpening, coming into focus.
“You said we finish it,” I continue, turning enough to look at him, to make sure he hears me, even if everything else is slipping. “We can’t do that running.”
Behind us, the sound breaks through the split. It’s almost here.
Our eyes lock, and I see the fire in his despite the pain and blood loss. The reserves of strength he is finding somewhere.
“Yes.”
I nod and ease him back against the wall, just for a second, just long enough to free one hand, to reach down and grab another loose piece of stone. My pulse steadies, and I finally catch my breath.
This is it. No more running. The eye appears—closer than it’s ever been. Locked and certain. I step forward. I’m not waiting for it; I’m meeting it.
It moves first, even with the damage and the confined space. The moment I step forward, the eye sharpens, and the filament snaps out fast.
I twist, but I don’t retreat. The line catches my arm. It’s tight and cold. Then it yanks. Hard.
