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Another quake, and the floor groans. Rosalind studies the cracked ceiling, then turns to her people.

“Evacuation continues. Group B takes the northern tunnel. Group C, you’re with me. Move!”

The compound stirs again—orders called, people moving, life rising in the face of destruction. The Al’fa steps to my side.

“You calmed the storm,” he murmurs.

I glance at him. “No. I reminded it what it’s fighting for.”

He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t need to. The tilt of his head says enough. We walk side by side, closer, in step.

Behind us, the last of the injured are being loaded onto makeshift sleds. Khiara, Vapas, Dilacs, and Janara move among the refugees, helping where they can. Visidion stands at Rosalind’s side, one clawed hand on her back as she gives final orders.

A low, thunderous crack echoes in the distance. The Paluga is rising. It will tear the underworld apart.

“Time to go,” Rosalind says, voice grim but steady. “Everyone move! We return to the surface.”

The words fall like a vow into the smoke-thick air. And for the first time in a long, long while… It feels like hope.

45

RANI

We move like an endless tide, unrelenting in our desperate quest for safety.

The compound is collapsing. Spiderweb cracks cover the ceiling. It won’t hold much longer. The earth roars, bucks, new crevasses appearing.

We guide the people as fast as we can, sending them into choking tunnels before the supports fail. Stone cracks and splits with every quake, but still the people keep moving.

They must. There’s no other choice. I help a mother lift her small child over a pile of rubble. A sobering thought strikes like a blade.

Where is Elara?

I stop dead in my tracks, heart pounding.

The tunnel roars with noise and desperate movement. I search the crowds but I do not see her. No sign of Ryatuv or Z’leni either.

Did they make it? Did they survive the mission I sent them on?

Panic slices through me, swift and sharp. I grab Khiara by the arm as he emerges from the smoke, hauling an elder on each side.

“Elara,” I gasp. “Have you seen her? Or Z’leni or Ryatuv?”

He frowns, scanning the crowd. “Not since before we marched.”

Cold congeals in my core. Neither have I.

I push through the people, searching the faces of Urr’ki, humans, Zmaj. Some bloody, some soot-streaked, some holding onto children, others guiding the wounded. I don’t find them, not the three I am looking for.

A tremor rocks the tunnel and dust falls in sheets. A woman screams as part of the ceiling collapses trapping her leg. She’s pinned so I rush over and help to pull her free. Then I keep moving. I spy Rosalind at the head of a group, her face pale with grit and urgency.

“We have to go, Queen,” she says as I approach. “If we stay in the tunnels much longer, no one’s getting out.”

“I can’t find Elara,” I tell her. “Or Z’leni. Or Ryatuv.”

Her mouth flattens into a grim line.

“They’ll come. If anyone can survive this, it’s them. We have to trust them.”