Her eyebrows rise. “No?”
“You fear it.”
“That is different?”
“Yes.”
Her face shifts. I see the place where the words land. Fear is not hate. Want is not theft. Care is not control. We are both learning dangerous distinctions in a cavern that may kill us before we use them.
The machine beneath the pool opens wider. A low vibration rolls through the cavern floor. Far below, the zemlja answers. Closer. Not under us yet. But turning toward the reservoir.
The signal has more than one purpose.
Call zemlja. Drain epis. Open old channels. Perhaps forcing the creature through buried structures until the City cracks from beneath.
“We are out of time,” I say.
“Black sample first.”
I move before she can.
The blackened growth lies where the corruption has reached the ridge wall near the old arch. It is not fully dead. Some strands are black at the tips and blue at the roots, with a sick white line flickering between. The wrongness inside it waits.
I use the torn anchor wrap as a barrier, then cut the smallest piece I can. It twitches. Not much. Enough. Sera inhales behind me.
“I saw it,” she says.
“Yes.”
“Do not put it near the healthy strand.”
“I know.”
“Or the gray thread,” she says.
“I know.”
“Or the blood-light sample.”
“Sera.”
“I am being thorough.”
“You are frightened,” I say.
“Yes,” she snaps. “And thorough.”
Truth with teeth.
I seal the blackened strand inside a separate scrap of hide, then wrap that in mineral cloth, then in another hide strip. Not perfect. Enough for now. Nothing on Tajss is perfect except the timing of disaster.
The eye under the pool flashes. The entire cavern goes white-blue. For a single breath, the world vanishes. In the light, I feel Sera. Not see it. Feel it.
A sharp, living line beside me. Pain in her arm. Fear in her throat. Want under her ribs. Stubbornness, like a blade. Hunger, like a room someone locked years ago and forgot was occupied.
The bond reaches. Not complete. Not sealed. Still reaching. My knees nearly bend toward her.
No.
