“Perhaps.”
“That is not better.”
“No.”
“Could it be the gray residue?”
“Yes.”
“Also not better.”
“No.”
She leans her head back against the stone and closes her eyes. Not sleep. She is too tense for that. Thinking. I let her, watching the passage instead.
The deep zemlja pressure has moved farther away, not closer. That is good. The wrong rhythm has faded for now. Also good. The dead chamber behind us still settles with tiny cracks and falls. Bad, but not immediate.
We have a sample. We have proof. We have a gray thread. We have her blood in the bandage and in my memory.
We need to move before her pain stiffens, before predators scent the blood through cracks, before the passage shifts again. But she needs one moment. I can give her one. Maybe two.
Her eyes open.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“How?”
“Like you’re deciding whether to carry me.”
“I have decided many times.”
“I will bite you.”
“I do not doubt that.”
“You should care more about that.”
“I do.”
“Not enough.”
“No.”
Her mouth almost smiles. Then pain drags the expression away. I make a choice. A dangerous one.
“We should wait until the bleeding slows.”
“We should move before the tunnel changes.”
“Yes.”
“That was not an agreement.”
“It was both.”
She studies me. “You’re learning my tricks.”
“You have many.”
