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“Heavily, from what I understand. I don’t know how she’s survived this long. I assume that Mazabuta has kept her hidden. Somehow he’s kept her out of the Shaman’s hands, but he won’t be able to get her out alone.”

Emotion slams into me—too much, too fast. Relief, guilt, rage. I don’t know Annalise personally, but I saw her a few times before things got crazy bad in the Urr’ki city. She always looked happy and free. Wandering the marketplace as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

“Pregnant,” I mutter under my breath, trying to catch up to the reality crashing down around me.

“Yes,” Rosalind says quietly. There’s understanding in her voice as her eyes bore into mine. “Elara, we need her.Ineed her.”

“Why?” I ask.

I’m not even sure why I asked that. What difference does it make? She’s a human, she’s in trouble, and she’s pregnant. We have to help her, of course. But it feels like I’m thinking through a thick fog and my thoughts aren’t fully coherent, leaving me saying stupid things.

Rosalind doesn’t accuse me of it, though she purses her lips, narrows her eyes, then sighs heavily. She closes her eyes, rubs her temples with both hands, then opens her weary eyes.

“The future of all our races,” Rosalind says with an intensity that feels like the weight of the mountain itself crashes onto my shoulders.

I blink, unsure what to say. I understand the words, but not the meaning of them. It feels like she knows some great and grand secret that unlocks what she means, but I have no idea what it is.

Not now. They have to go.

“What do you need?” I ask, following my instinct that we don’t have time to waste on my musings.

She hesitates, looking around before she speaks.

“I want you to go too. To get Annalise out.” My mouth opens, but I don’t know what to say. Rosalind fills the silence. “She won’t trust anyone else. She’s scared, and she thinks we forgot about her. I know it’s dangerous, but... if you’re willing?—”

“Yes,” I breathe, already moving forward, already choosing. I don’t need time to think. I know what it means to be forgotten. I know what it feels like to be trapped in that place, with no hope of rescue. And I want to go. This gives me an excuse the boys won’t be able to argue with. “I’ll go.”

Rosalind closes her eyes briefly. When she opens them, the hard gleam of leadership is back—yet something deeply human flickers beneath it. Regret or hope, but which I’m not sure.

“We’re risking everything,” she says. “Let’s try to save as much as we can.”

* * *

The clink of metal, the hiss of fabric, the rasp of buckles being secured. I stand between Ryatuv and Z’leni, encased in silence thick enough to choke on.

Zmaj gear feels foreign on my skin, thick where I’m used to thin, heavy where I’m used to light. Sleek, dark pieces of protective leather laced with heat-resistant fabric. It molds to my body fairly well considering I’m a third the size of even a small Zmaj. When I commented on that, Ryatuv smirked. It took more than a moment to get him to admit that this was meant for a child, not a full-grown male.

“Perfect. Kid-sized armor on a suicide mission. What could possibly go wrong?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood.

He lays a matching cloak, thick and heavy, over my shoulders, claiming it will shield me from the worst of the underground heat.

Z’leni adjusts the strap of his pack, eyes sharp, but not looking at me. He hasn’t spoken since Rosalind’s announcement. Ryatuv, on the other side of me, is no better. His jaw is clenched tight as he checks his weapons with more force than necessary. I don’t miss the way they both look at me when the other isn’t. Z’leni pulls me aside first.

“You shouldn’t go,” he says, his voice quiet but firm.

“Too late,” I say, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re being used. Rosalind’s playing on your emotions. You’ll compromise the mission,” he says, frowning deeply.

I search for anything soft in those dark eyes. I don’t find it, though, only fear. Not for himself of course. If I’ve learned anything of him, it’s that death holds no candle in his world. His fear is all for me.

“Then make sure I don’t die,” I say simply, and turn away.

Seconds later, Ryatuv slides in, his expression dark.

“You don’t have to prove anything.”

“I’m not trying to prove anything. I’m trying to save someone,” I say with a sharp laugh.