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Ellie’s cheeks heated. “The sleeve should be more than sufficient,” she returned primly.

“Sure about that?” Adam asked as he loomed a little closer. His newly stitched hand neatly flicked at her topmost button.

Ellie had lost a pair of buttons in the cenote, so the one he touched was already indecently low.

She might loseallher buttons down here, she thought thickly as her eyes dropped to the sweat-slicked muscle on Adam’s chest. What did she really need them for anyway? Bothersome things, buttons…

“Sleeve,” she said through her suddenly dry mouth.

He flashed her a grin.

“Fair enough,” he agreed. “Hold still.”

“Hold still?” Ellie echoed, and then flinched as the machete flashed up again.

Adam took hold of the shoulder of her shirt and stabbed it. The knife passed close enough to Ellie’s cheek that she could feel the soft wind of its passing.

He jerked the blade up, slicing the fabric in two. Taking hold of the cut from both sides, he ripped it apart.

The sleeve severed with a jerk. Adam peeled it down Ellie’s arm. The fabric was still a bit damp from her plunge into the cenote and the humid, sweaty warmth of the council chamber.

“We should probably sterilize that with the alcohol as well,” Ellie said thoughtfully as she eyed the stained, filthy piece of cloth.

“Sure,” Adam replied. “Gimmie the booze.”

She took the flask from her pocket and handed it over. Adam flipped it open and tossed the contents down his throat.

“Gahhh,” he gasped as he finished. “That really is awful. Who the hell did you steal this from?”

“I took it off Mr. Mendez,” Ellie retorted as she snatched the flask back, along with her shirtsleeve.

She splashed the remaining liquor on the fabric.

“No wonder he’s in such a bad mood all the time,” Adam grumbled.

“There,” Ellie declared after firmly binding the wound. “Now we may proceed… though I should very much like to know how you managed to do that to yourself so easily.”

“I just touched a rock,” Adam complained in response.

“Which one?” Ellie asked, and then realized she didn’t need Adam to answer. She could see the splatter of dark blood on the ground where he had been standing. “The torch, please.”

Adam handed it to her. Ellie used the light to study the stone column beside them.

She spotted another splash of blood on its surface. Something odd protruded from the center of the stain—a small sliver of black stone.

“Something’s stuck here,” she said. “It looks like… a tiny little piece of knapped obsidian.”

It certainly explained Adam’s wound. Obsidian could be chipped into a terribly fine edge. That was why Mesoamerican societies had used the stone to create blades and arrowheads. Though brittle, the facets could be sharper than Adam’s machete blade.

Ellie shifted her perspective. From the path, the knife-like sliver would have been nearly invisible.

With a jolt, she realized that there were more of them. A spine of tiny, razor sharp slivers bristled from the column.

“They’re all over it!” she declared.

Adam’s mouth formed a grimmer line. He plucked the torch from her and directed his sharp blue gaze out over the twisting, maze-like chamber.

Glittering shards of black stone winked at them from almost every surface.