Chapter 23 Leena
LEENA
We don’t get another chamber; instead, we come to a fracture.
A jagged seam where the rock has shifted and settled into something barely passable. I slow enough to measure it and know we have no choice.
“Through,” I say.
We turn sideways together, forcing into the narrow break as stone presses in from both sides, scraping skin, catching fabric, stealing space we don’t have. I swear it’s going to rip my tits off, but I keep pushing. He stumbles, and I adjust, pulling to keep him upright.
“Stay with me,” I murmur, more breath than voice.
“I… remain.”
Thinner still. He’s fading, but I can’t stop to help. That thing is coming. I hear it hit the split behind us. The sound of metal grinding as it forces itself into a space it doesn’t fit.
Good. Let it fight the tunnel. Let it work for every inch while we push through. Every movement is measured so we don’t wedge ourselves, don’t lose balance, don’t—
He slips.
His weight drops onto me, too heavy and too uncontrolled for a fraction too long. My knees give, and if not for the tightness of the walls, I’d be down.
“Kael.” He doesn’t answer.
I tighten my grip, doing all I can to force him upright. I brace and adjust our angle so he doesn’t drag us both down.
“Stay with me,” I say again, sharper as panic surges.
His breath catches. A flicker.
“I… am…”
The words don’t finish, but the effort is there. He’s there. I take it.
We clear the tightest part of the split and stumble into the next stretch of tunnel, wider by inches, not enough to matter, but enough that I can shift him, reposition, keep us moving.
I don’t look back because I don’t need to. I feel it closing in on us. The sound of it scraping through the split, still coming.
My chest tightens—not only in fear, but something harder. Colder.
“We stop,” I say.
The words surprise even me. He doesn’t respond right away, but I feel the shift in him. His attention sharpening, coming into focus.
“You said we finish it,” I continue, turning enough to look at him, to make sure he hears me, even if everything else is slipping. “We can’t do that running.”
Behind us, the sound breaks through the split. It’s almost here.
Our eyes lock, and I see the fire in his despite the pain and blood loss. The reserves of strength he is finding somewhere.
“Yes.”
I nod and ease him back against the wall, just for a second, just long enough to free one hand, to reach down and grab another loose piece of stone. My pulse steadies, and I finally catch my breath.
This is it. No more running. The eye appears—closer than it’s ever been. Locked and certain. I step forward. I’m not waiting for it; I’m meeting it.
It moves first, even with the damage and the confined space. The moment I step forward, the eye sharpens, and the filament snaps out fast.
I twist, but I don’t retreat. The line catches my arm. It’s tight and cold. Then it yanks. Hard.
I jerk forward, pulled straight toward it, the force controlled, precise, like I’m already caught, already accounted for. Which is exactly what I want.
“Now!” I shout.
He grabs the line near where it binds me, twisting, forcing it off the clean angle it wants.
The creature compensates. Its forelimb drives forward to pin, not kill. He steps into it, intercepting, and the impact hits him square through the side.
I feel it through him, through the line, through everything. A sharp breath tears out of him, but he holds.
“Hold!” he growls.
I do, even as the line tightens around my arm, even as the pull increases, dragging me closer. I plant my feet, straining. The ground beneath us cracks. He shifts his grip on the line, not letting go, repositioning.
He’s using the pull instead of fighting it, dragging the line lower and angling it across the weakest point in the floor. The creature pulls harder, trying to correct, trying to take control back. But it’s too late.
“Again!” he snaps.
I slam my heel down. Once. Twice. The crack widens. The surface gives—then breaks.
The ground drops out beneath the creature. One side of its body sinks sharply into the fracture, twisting its limb at an angle that forces its balance off-center. It catches itself, but it’s not clean or in control.
“Now!” I shout.
He releases the line and drives forward, straight into it.
He brings his fist up under what would be its jaw, forcing its head back, forcing its angle wrong and pinning it against the collapsing edge instead of letting it stabilize.
For a second everything locks. Then it reacts faster and smarter. The second filament deploys at Kael, wraps his leg, and pulls.
He drops to one knee. The sound he makes isn’t controlled.
My chest tightens. No. Not like this. I move, closing the distance and grabbing the line.
I ignore the burn of it as I wrap it once around the jagged edge of the split behind me, then pull with everything I have.
The line goes taut. The tension spikes.
Wrong. Unbalanced. The creature pulls. I pull back. He braces. The rock between us cracks, then gives.
The angle shifts. The line slips, and he rips free.
Not without cost, but free.
“Move!” he snaps.
We break contact together, stumbling back, retreating enough to force space again, but not running anymore.
Behind us, it thrashes. Its body twists, forcing itself free from the fractured ground, rebalancing, recalibrating, still coming.
I grab him and pull him upright before he can drop, forcing him into motion even as I feel how much worse he is now.
“You’re done,” I say under my breath.
“No.”
But he’s close. Too close. We move anyway. Because stopping is death. Behind us, it follows. Relentless. And we’re running out of space to use.