Waterfall’s Shadow
The cave didn't just smell like wet stone; it smelled like an old cellar where something had died in the dark. I sat with my spine pressed hard against the jagged, sweating limestone wall, the weight of Kai’s skull a heavy, burning heat in my lap. Outside, the waterfall was a continuous, deafening curtain of gray water that should have been a comfort—a natural wall of sound to hide our breathing. Instead, the white noise felt oppressive, like it was trying to systematically drown out whatever tiny scrap of momentum we had left. Every four or five minutes, the silence in my own head would fracture, and I’d press the back of my knuckles against his temple, terrified that the fever was starting its climb. His skin was too hot, dry despite the humidity, and the thick strips of linen I’d mappe
- Writer
