The underground chamber beneath the lighthouse felt like another world entirely.
Cold stone walls.
Salt‑heavy air.
A faint, distant rumble of waves crashing against the cliffs above.
Cole leaned against the wall, breathing hard, blood dripping down his arm. He wasn’t dying — but he wasn’t fine either. His eyes stayed sharp, scanning every shadow, every corner, every sound.
I knelt beside him. “Cole… you’re hurt.”
He wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his hand. “I’ve been hurt worse.”
“That doesn’t make this better.”
He looked at me — really looked — and something in his expression softened. “Aria… I’m still breathing. That’s what matters.”
A distant thud echoed through the tunnel behind us.
Cole stiffened. “They’re still coming.”
My pulse spiked. “How many?”
“Enough.
