Page 68 of Third

“How long is this tunnel?” she whispered.

“1.3 kilometers.” His voice was low, but steady. “But the structure is not sound.”

No kidding.

They ducked beneath a hanging support beam that had come half-loose from the ceiling. Tor’Vek pushed it aside for her with a casual strength that sent shivers down her spine. Her breath hitched at the motion, the way his body moved with clean, controlled power. Not from fear. From something hotter. Something she had no name for and didn’t dare dwell on—not here, not with the floor cracking beneaththem.

They pressedon.

Every few minutes, avibration passed through the floor—like the entire corridor was shifting on its foundation. Pipes throbbed with heat, arhythmic pulse that seemed to echo in her bones—deep and muffled, like a heartbeat buried too far beneath skin. The warmth radiating from them wasn’t just uncomfortable. It felt alive, like something waiting.

In one section, the walls narrowed to barely more than a crawlspace, forcing them into single file. Tor’Vek led. Anya followed, watching the line of his back, the strength in his shoulders, the way he kept one hand hovering just behind him in case she slipped.

“I’m fine,” she said softly.

“I am ensuring that you remain so.”

The bond pulsed at those words, low and heated. Her eyes flicked to his mouth as he spoke, lingering a half second too long on the shape of it—the control in his voice, the strength in hisjaw.

It made her wonder what it would take to make that control slip. The heat rose higher in her chest, restless, clawing. If she didn’t move, if she let herself dwell, she’d lean in. It was like a hand pressed to the base of her spine—joining, yes, but also provoking. Her skin felt too tight, her heartbeat irregular. She wanted to lean into him, to touch more than just his arm, but she forced her feet forward instead.

A sudden snap echoed above.

Anya froze. So didhe.

A hairline crack split across the ceiling. Dust rained down. Then the corridor shifted—just enough to tilt the floor beneath their boots.

“Move,” Tor’Vek said sharply.

They did—fast, running now, ducking under more sagging beams, skipping over fractures that split wider with every step. Heat rose from the floor in waves, and her skin prickled with warning.

Ahead, the tunnel yawned into a slightly wider chamber—reinforced, at least by design.

But as Anya sprinted toward it, the floor beneath her feet gaveway.

There was no warning. Just the sudden, sickening lurch of nothing beneath her, the terrifying feeling of weightlessness where a solid floor had been. She screamed, arms pinwheeling, gravel and dust exploding upward as her boots skidded over theedge.

Panic surged, wild and blinding. Her heart punched her ribcage. The corridor blurred aroundher.

She dropped.

Her fingers scraped over crumbling metal—slipped—then caught.

Her body snapped to a halt, dangling by one hand from the jagged edge. Her other arm flailed, searching for anything—nothing. Pain shot through her shoulder like lightning, white-hot and blinding.

She was swinging.

Above a drop that had noend.

Her breath came in shallow gasps. Her fingernails tore at the metal, scrabbling for purchase as her grip started to slip. One finger. Then another.

She dug in, hard, the edge biting beneath her nails. Blood smeared the metal. Terror eclipsed everything else. There was no room for thought, no room for the bond. Only the breath catching sharp in her throat and the cold truth vibrating through her bones:

She was one fingernail away from dying.

She gasped, feet kicking in emptyair.

“Tor’Vek!”

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