Too much light. Too much blood. Too much wanting in me, too much need to take her away from all of it. She looks at me. Not pleading. Demanding to be heard.
“The floor is going to drop toward the signal path,” she says. “That wall will split before the ceiling does. If we cut across the break, we can use it before it opens too wide.”
“You want to run along a collapsing seam.”
“No. Across it. Running along would be stupid.”
“A comforting distinction.”
“I try.”
Another piece of the passage behind us caves inward. Dust slams into the air. There is no more time.
I grip the sample pouch tighter against my chest. Her pack and map are strapped to my back. Her wounded arm is against her ribs. She cannot climb well. Cannot catch herself if she falls badly. I can carry her.
No.
Not if she needs her hands free. Not if the seam has to be read by sight. Not if my arms are full and she sees what I do not.
Trust her inside the danger.
The thought tastes like blood.
“Tell me where,” I say.
Her face changes, not much, but enough. She expected resistance, and I give her none. She swallows once.
“When the next pulse hits, the wall will flex. We move after, not during. Three steps forward to the cracked black line. Left across the dust shelf. Do not touch the pale stones. They’re sitting loose. Then up on the slanted rib.”
“You?”
“I follow.”
“No.” Her eyes flash. Before she can speak, I continue. “You lead. I follow.”
That stops her.
“Why?”
“Because I cannot read your sideways.”
Her mouth parts slightly, then shuts. Good.
“Fine,” she says. “But if I fall?—”
“I catch you.”
“If I fall, you keep the sample clear of the dust channels first.”
“No.”
“Kavor.”
“No.”
The signal pulses. The wall flexes. Stone shrieks. Sera moves. I follow.
Three steps forward. Black crack. Left across the dust shelf. Pale stones sit loose where she said. I avoid them. The slanted rib rises ahead, slick with mineral crust.
