“Step back,” I repeat, my voice just as calm.
One of the humans leans in, pointing at the page.
“You’re not accounting for?—”
A hand catches my wrist. Not rough. Not aggressive. Insistent.
“Look,” he says, trying to angle the clipboard toward himself.
The space closes another inch. Zmaj shift behind me. Urr’ki step in from the side. Voices overlap. Movement tightens. Everything is too close.
I inhale sharply. Control. I have this. I cannot let my emotions take over.
“Let go,” I say, my voice steady.
No one hears it. Or they do, and it doesn’t matter. I tighten my grip on the board, preparing to pull it back, to reset the space, to?—
The sand shifts.
3
KAELRETH
Sand settles against my scales. Heat presses down from above, heavier near the surface, muted where I lie beneath it. I stay motionless.
Stillness is a choice.
Above me, the ground carries everything.
Weight. Vibration. Rhythm.
I track it all.
The larger green ones strike harder against the sand. Broad footfalls. Direct. The smaller ones move faster, lighter, less evenly spaced. The Zmaj are different from both. Controlled. Efficient. Their steps waste nothing.
Three groups.
One staging ground.
Too many bodies too close to her.
I do not need to see it to know where she is.
The vibration of the group shifts around a fixed point. Pressure gathering, loosening, gathering again. They orbit her without understanding what they do.
The directive beneath thought tightens.
Ready.
I ease one hand deeper into the sand and wait. The grains are hot near the top, cooler below. They slide over my skin, over my forearms, my chest, my face. I slow my breathing until even that nearly disappears.
Above me, voices rise.
Muted through layers of sand, but distinct in pattern. Overlap. Interruption. Escalation. Too many at once. No clean line of retreat.
My jaw tightens.
I hold.
