Everyone looks at him. He stands beside me. Close enough that the bond hums warm through my ribs, far enough that no one can pretend I’m tucked behind him.
Good male. Terrible for my concentration.
“The zemlja has moved deeper,” he continues. “The signal no longer directs it through the west branch, but the old tunnels remain open. The system is wounded, not dead.”
Syin nods once, grim. “The floor still speaks wrong.”
Adran’s mouth curves without humor. “Then we agree we do not have the luxury of waiting.”
The chamber tightens. There he is. Not wrong. Never wrong enough to make this easy.
Rosalind’s eyes cut to him. “No one is suggesting inaction.”
“No,” Adran says. “Only delay dressed in the language of caution.”
Ila’s boot stops swinging. “You almost handed the floor a key because you wanted to be first through the door.”
His gaze snaps to her. “I wanted access before a starving population tore itself apart over rumors.”
“You fed the rumors,” Ila says.
“I gave people truth.”
“You gave them teeth,” Ila says.
Adran’s expression sharpens. “And you would give them silence?”
The room goes still. Because that’s the blade he carries best. Silence has starved people too. Secrets have weight. Secrets have bodies under them.
I look at the table instead of him. The map is there, weighted at the corners. Not the original. A copy Rosalind made with the main routes and blank places marked in careful strokes. The source below us is only a rough circle. Too small for what it is. Too neat for what it can do.
Beside the map sit four separate boxes. Healthy strand. Blackened sample. Broken anchor. Gray residue. No piece touching another. No single hand is near all of them.
Kavor’s hand brushes mine under the table edge. A question. I answer by taking a breath. Then I lift my head.
“Adran is right about one thing,” I say.
Ila’s eyes widen slightly, which is satisfying enough to keep me alive another hour. Adran turns toward me. So does everyone else.
I swallow. My throat is dry. Merra appears at my elbow with the water skin like a curse in healer form.
I drink. No guilt. Well, a little. But less. Progress.
“Caution will not feed people by itself,” I say. “And silence won’t hold. Not now. Too many people heard epis. Too many saw the samples glow. Too many felt the floor answer.”
Adran’s expression shifts, almost approving. I hate that. So I keep going.
“But rushing below will kill us faster. The source isn’t a storeroom. It’s tied into a system that tried to use my blood, Kavor’s burn, the proof, and our bond to open itself.” I look at Adran. “That’s not salvation. That’s a mouth.”
His jaw tightens. Good. Let him taste it.
Rosalind nods once. “Then we establish an emergency structure.”
Adran’s eyes narrow. “Under whose authority?”
“Shared,” Rosalind says.
That word lands badly with almost everyone in the room. Good. It probably means it’s necessary.
