Chapter 22 Leena
LEENA
The eye doesn’t move. It’s locked and steady, like it knows where we’ll be next. My stomach drops, but there’s no time.
“Kaelreth.”
Ignoring the threat, I pull his head into my lap, then move my fingers along his chest. There’s too much blood. The bandage is soaked through and useless.
“Stay with me,” I say again, sharper now, pressing hard on the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. “You don’t get to check out now.”
His breath catches, shallow and uneven. His eyes try to focus on me. Try—and fail.
“I… remain.”
It’s barely there, but it has to be enough.
Behind me, stone shifts. A grinding pull as the thing struggles to free itself.
I don’t look. I don’t let myself. Because if I do, I lose him.
I move fast, tearing the soaked fabric free and replacing it with what I have left, wrapping it tighter and anchoring it, ignoring the way his body tenses under the pressure.
“Stay with me,” I repeat, lower. “Stay.”
His jaw flexes. A flicker of pure will—good. I lean closer, bracing him, keeping him upright as best I can.
“You said we don’t quit,” I murmur. “So don’t.”
Behind me, a sharp crack splits the air, and I feel it through the ground. We’re out of time.
I slide my arm under his, pulling him up before he can try to do it wrong.
“Up,” I say. “Now.”
His body is dead weight for a moment. Panic surges. There’s no way I can lift him. One heartbeat. Two. Then, thankfully, he shifts. It’s not strength; it’s pure will.
He rises and leans on me. I pull harder, taking his weight, adjusting fast so he doesn’t collapse again. I keep my hand pressed against his side to keep the bleeding in check. He’s barely standing, but he’s standing.
“That’s it,” I say under my breath. “Stay with me.”
Behind us, the creature forces more of itself free with a grinding surge, metal and flesh scraping through rock that’s no longer holding.
“We move,” I say, and he nods.
We take the first step together, slow and controlled, every movement deliberate. Running isn’t an option anymore. If he falls again, he’s not getting back up, so I keep us moving. Together.
I don’t think escape is possible, but going forward is the only option. Behind us, it comes—not searching, but following.
We don’t get far before the tunnel tightens, forcing us closer. My shoulder scrapes stone as I guide him through. I adjust every step so he doesn’t twist the wrong way, trying not to tear the wound open further.
I feel more of his weight on me—not because he’s heavier, but because he’s slipping.
“Stay with me,” I murmur, not looking, keeping my focus forward, because if I lose that, we both go down.
“I… remain.”
It’s quieter, thinner, but it’s there. I’ll take it. I’ll take anything right now.
Behind us, the sound changes. Less grinding. More movement. Faster. It’s free. I thought I was numb, beyond any capacity to feel fear, even terror. I was wrong. My heart leaps into my throat. I tighten my grip on Kael.
“Of course you are,” I mutter under my breath, pushing harder, faster than we should in a space like this.
The tunnel curves sharply, then drops. Loose stone shifts under my foot, and I catch myself against the wall, dragging him with me, forcing both of us to stabilize before we lose our footing.
“Careful,” I say, even though I’m the one who almost went down.
His breath hitches in pain. I feel it and ignore it. I have to keep us moving. Forward toward… something. Hope. Dim, but I cling to it. Survival. As long as we’re alive, there is hope.
The space opens just enough to give us a choice: left or right. One path narrows into darkness, tight and jagged. The other curves wider, smoother. Too smooth.
“Left.”
He doesn’t question it. The tighter path forces us into each other again, my arm locked around him, his weight leaning heavier into me as the ceiling drops and the walls press in.
Good. Let it choke the space. I hope it slows it down.
Behind us, I hear it hit the turn and commit. The sound of it fills the tunnel. Metal dragging against stone, something heavier in the rhythm where the damage slowed it—but not enough.
I risk a glance back, and the eye is there. Closer than I’d hoped. Tracking.
“Not good,” I breathe.
“No.”
I tighten my grip on him.
“Can you give me more?” I ask, low, controlled. “Just a little.”
A pause. Then—
“Yes.”
The word is forced, dragged up from somewhere deeper than strength. His posture shifts. Less dead weight and more movement. That’s everything.
We push forward, faster, the tunnel narrowing further, forcing us into a near crawl in places, ducking, turning, adjusting every second stretched thin. Behind us, it follows. Relentless.
The tunnel bends again, then opens into a small chamber with a low, cracked ceiling. Not as clean as the last one. Not as perfect. But something. I slow, not stopping, thinking.
The ground is uneven and loose. The walls are tight enough to force an angle. It’s not a trap, but maybe—
“Here,” I say.
We move into position, instinct pulling us into place, shaping the space the way we can, because that’s all we have left. No strength in either of us, only a choice. We press against the wall, waiting.
It comes slower, more cautious than before. It’s learning. Good, I was counting on that. I shift my weight, adjusting and bracing him. Setting us, I wait.
The moment it enters the chamber, I move.
A shift of weight. A step that looks like adjustment instead of intention, pulling Kael with me enough to change our angle and make the ground between us and it the weakest point in the room.
The eye flicks to the movement, but it doesn’t strike. It’s learned that too.
“It’s slowing itself,” I whisper.
“Yes.”
It’s waiting for the right moment, so we take it first.
I tighten my hold on Kael, bracing, then drive my heel down hard into the loose section of the floor.
Once. Nothing. Again.
The ground shifts.
A faint crack runs outward from the point of impact, but not enough.
“Again,” I say.
He moves with me, his foot striking beside mine, reinforcing the break, and the crack widens. The creature reacts too late.
The ground gives under its front weight, dropping enough to throw its balance, one limb sliding into the fractured section as the surface collapses inward.
It catches itself, but now it’s wrong. Off-center. Its angle compromised again.
“Back,” I say, already moving.
We retreat into the narrow edge of the chamber, forcing it to follow into a worse position, forcing its body to compress and work against the space instead of owning it.
It comes slow and deliberate. The filament snaps out. One line, not two, targeting me.
I twist, pulling him with me, the line grazing past my side, embedding into the stone behind us with a sharp crack.
The line retracts, and Kael moves into it. His hand snaps out, catching the filament before it can fully retract, wrapping it once around his forearm, forcing tension.
“Kael—”
“Hold.”
I don’t question him, shifting closer and bracing him.
I feel the strain build through him, through me, through the line connecting him to the thing trying to take him as the creature pulls hard.
The line goes taut. Kael’s body jerks. The wound tears a little more under the strain. My stomach twists.
“Let go,” I say.
“No.”
The tension spikes. The ground beneath the creature shifts again, the compromised footing forcing it to adjust, to pull harder to compensate, which is exactly what we need.
“Now,” he says.
I move, grabbing the loose rock near my foot and slamming it down into the line where it stretches taut against the ground, forcing it deeper into the fracture point.
The line grinds against stone. Sparks fly. The crack spreads. The creature pulls. Stronger. The ground collapses further. This time, it drops.
One side of its body sinks deeper into the fractured floor, its limb trapped at a sharper angle, its balance breaking enough to matter.
The line snaps free from his arm, and he staggers. I catch him, but we both nearly go down.
“Move,” he says, rough, breath uneven.
I don’t argue, pulling him back, retreating into the tightest part of the tunnel again, forcing distance, forcing space between us and it before it can recover. Behind us, it adjusts.
Slower. Damaged, but not stopped.
“You’re worse,” I say, not asking.
“Yes.”
No denial or softening, just truth. Good. I can work with truth.
I keep us moving. It’s not fast or clean, but we’re together. And behind us, it follows.
It’s not as strong as it was, but it’s still coming. And that’s the problem, because this isn’t over. Not even close.