The tunnel swallowed them whole.
No torches. No light except the faint pulse from the shard in Aria’s hand. Every step sent dust and grit crunching under their boots, and behind them, the lower ruins groaned like something ancient was stretching awake.
“Don’t stop,” Kieran muttered, glancing over his shoulder. His blade was out, catching the shard’s light in thin silver lines. “If it decides to chase, we won’t outrun it on open ground.”
Aria didn’t answer. Her grip on Darian’s hand was tight enough to hurt. Through the bond, he felt it—her focus, split three ways between holding the shard, keeping the shadows at bay, and not letting panic win.
The bond itself was still raw. Every spike of her fear cut straight into him. Every time her knees threatened to buckle, his legs felt weak too
