Page 67 of Third

“No.”

He knelt and placed them on the metal floor. They twitched. Unfolded. Eight thin legs each, gleaming and delicate. They looked like mechanical spiders.

Anya swallowed. “What are those?”

“Mapping scouts,” he said. “Each one will take a different route through the structure. They feed real-time visual and sensory data to myrij.”

As he spoke, the tiny machines skittered off—one left, one right, one forward into the tunnel ahead.

Anya tried to calm her breathing. The craving hadn’t vanished. It licked at her nerves, bubbling just beneath the surface of her skin, quiet but insistent—like breath against her neck when no one was there. Her hand gripped his forearm as they stood tight against one another, watching the feed begin to populate on his wrist.

She didn’t move away. She couldn’t. The contact connected her—and threatened to undoher.

Tor’Vek didn’t look at her, but she felt the tension in him when she touched him. Controlled. Banked.

The map began to build on his screen—corridors unfolding in three glowing threads.

“That one,” he said, pointing to the middle. “Adirect path to the core chamber. Minimal turns.”

A longbeat.

She saw something flash across the screen—aburst of shadow, aflicker of movement, an incredibly large object. Then came a sharp, metallic crack through the audio feed—asound like metal tearing, followed by static. The noise sent a jolt down her spine. Whatever it was, it moved fast, violently. And itsaw.

The camera wentdark.

Tor’Vek exhaled slowly. “The scout was destroyed.”

“What did that?” Her voice came out thin. Unsteady.

Tor’Vek didn’t answer right away. Then: “Predator. Large. Aware.”

She was already backing away from the screen, as if that flicker of shadow might emerge from the corridor and swallow them whole. Her heart pounded so loud it drowned the hum of the pulsing walls. Then came a sound—low and distant at first, almost a vibration in her bones. It grew, rising into a deep, rumbling growl that echoed through the corridor system like thunder held underwater.

Whatever had destroyed that scout wasn’t just dangerous—it was hunting. Her stomach churned, acold wave of nausea rolling through her as the weight of that truth settled over her. Her legs went a little weak, knees threatening to give. She clutched Tor’Vek’s arm for balance instead, nails digging into him as if the strength of his body might keep her upright. It steadied her. Barely. And it had sensed them. Maybe not seen—there was no clear image to prove that. But the timing, the precision—it had reacted. It knew they werehere.

A slow, electric crawl danced down her spine—not a full-body shudder, but a needle-fine ripple of dread that burrowed beneath her skin. Her breath hitched. The sensation wasn’t just fear. It was the unmistakable feeling of being watched. Hunted. As if the dark itself had taken notice of her and was deciding whether to strike.

They stared at the feed in silence. The second spider moved through a winding set of detours. The third had paused to act as relay.

The detour path was long. Collapsing. Barely intact.

But not guarded.

He tilted his head. “We go around.”

Anya nodded once, the craving twisting harder in her chest. Her fingers lingered on his arm longer than they should have, the heat of his skin calling to something deeper than fear or instinct. The bond surged, restrained but electric, like pressure behind a dam. She bit her lip, the ache in her chest flaring with the nearness of him—not just want, but need. Dangerous, risingneed.

She pulled in a breath. One, then another, willing herself to focus. They weren’t safe yet. She couldn’t let the craving win. Not here. Not now. Her legs felt shaky, her chest tight, but she straightened her shoulders anyway.

Only then did they turn toward the unstablepath.

And stepped into thedark.

The air changed the moment they crossed into the alternate corridor. Anya felt it first in her chest—atightening, like her lungs had to work harder to draw each breath. The taste of dust clung to her tongue, iron-rich and stale, and something about the silence pressed against her eardrums like it wanted to hold her in place. It wasn’t just hotter—it was heavier, weighted with dust and the sour tang of decay and fatigue. Every step crunched against debris. The floor beneath them felt brittle, not built for longevity. Not anymore.

Anya kept close to Tor’Vek, connecting with him every few steps—sometimes for balance, sometimes because the craving demanded it. The bond buzzed between them, not sharp like before, but simmering. It curled low in her belly, aslow burn that refused to fade. Every time she caught the scent of him in the stale heat, it tightened. Dangerous in its quiet persistence, like a fuse too short and alreadylit.

Tor’Vek didn’t speak. He moved with precise economy, each step measured, his gaze flicking to the ceiling every time the metal above them groaned.

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