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“Let’s get this over with,” Gunner growled, yawning widely, and down they all went.

The tunnel was, finally, clear of water. Whatever Theo had done to curb the seeping had held overnight. The floor was malleable but not sodden. The walls felt dry underhand. Patrick stayed with Nina at the corpus, shoveling loads of waste into mine carts as she carved.

He tried not to distract her while she worked, but it was a trial. Distraction was normally a requirement down here, when the walls and ceiling felt too close, the air sulfuric and clotted. Scottie was humming to himself by the waste chute Nina had created. Gunner and Briggs were speaking in foreign accents for entertainment while they framed the walls. Theodore appeared and disappeared with every cart that Patrick filled and pushed it away on its tracks. With each pass, his face grew more and moretempestuous. Patrick estimated how long it would take for the man to snap.

He could hardly blame Theodore his jealousy. If he had fumbled a woman like Nina Harrow, he’d likely walk about with a stuck jaw, too.

Patrick wondered how deep that bitterness went. Wars had been forged and finished in jealousy. Entire cities lay in the ruins of jilted hearts.

And jealous men made unpredictable allies. Theodore Shop ought to be watched closely.

Nina exhaled heavily at that moment, pressed her muddied fingers to her forehead.

Patrick went to her immediately. “Rest awhile,” he urged her. “We’ve been down here for hours.”

“It’s all right,” she answered, giving him a tight smile.

But he watched her hang her head, roll her neck, and his concern mounted. “I don’t want you to push yourself if it’s painful.”

“It’s a good pain,” she said. “Like stretching a muscle.”

“We’ve passed thirteen miles,” Patrick told her. “I’d say we’re somewhere between Dunnitch and Trent. It’s far enough for today.”

She sighed, yielding. “Will we walk back?”

“Unless you fancy skippin’.”

She hit him lightly on the chest.

It took four hours to return. Tomorrow, he would let Nina rest. The journey through the tunnel would need to be made by mining cart as it lengthened.

As they walked, Nina peppered him with questions. She threw them over her shoulder every few minutes, and he answered them—about the Miners Union, the tunnels, the capture of the Alchemist.

“Last question, Scurry girl,” Patrick said, placing a hand to her waist when she staggered sideways. “Then show me some mercy. I’m beggin’.”

“I’m only curious,” she said. “If I’m to be a member of the Miners Union, I should have the facts.”

“The Miners Union, eh?” Patrick smirked. “Are you plannin’ on joining the fight, then?”

“Whether I choose to fight or not, that shouldn’t stop me from being a member.”

Patrick smiled at the ease with which she said it, though the thought of Nina amid the fire of explosions made him ill. “I won’t deny you, but you won’t be going anywhere near the bullets and bayonets, darlin’. Just so we’re clear.”

She turned abruptly, leaving the others to walk on, already much farther ahead than them. “You underestimate me. I think I’d serve well in a battle.”

Patrick rolled his eyes, braced his arms on either wall and looked down at her. “Have you ever fired a pistol?”

“I don’t need one,” was her answer, and dirt rose around her, began spiraling into a funnel. A diminutive windstorm.

“Show-off,” he muttered, and she grinned, then let the dirt fall. “Keep walking,” he told her gently, turning her by her shoulders.

“How much farther?”

Hours. “A short while.”

She was dragging her feet already, exhaustion setting in. “If my knees give out, you’ll be forced to carry me, I hope you realize.”

“Ask me your final question,” he prompted. Distraction was key. It delayed all kinds of mental voids.