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“Shut up.”

But Ryatuv’s grip is gentler now, his hand bracing Z’leni with more care than I’ve ever seen from him. He runs his hands over Z’leni, inspecting his leg. Z’leni hisses when Ryatuv touches his calf. I rise slowly, my body aching.

“Is he?—?”

“He’ll live,” Ryatuv says, rising to his feet. “But he’s not walking the rest of the way.”

“Don’t you dare—” Z’leni groans.

Too late. Ryatuv dips and slings Z’leni’s arm over his shoulder. Z’leni winces but doesn’t protest further. Not out loud, anyway. I stare at the two of them stuck between a mix of shock and something deeper that makes my guts coil low in my stomach.

The three of us begin to move, slower now, but somehow it feels like we’re closer to each other, somehow more tethered or maybe more tangled.

Ryatuv adjusts Z’leni against his side, gripping his waist like this is nothing new and like the weight of the Urr’ki means nothing to him. But I can tell from the tightness in his jaw and the way his muscles flex beneath his skin that it’s not easy. Z’leni isn’t light. And Ryatuv is pushing the limits of his strength. As we travel steam curls around his body like smoke clinging to a flame.

“Don’t you dare drop me,” Z’leni mutters, breath shallow.

Ryatuv snorts. “I’ll throw you before I drop you.”

“Touching.”

But he doesn’t shift away. If anything, he leans a little more into Ryatuv’s hold, his expression grim beneath the soot and blood. And Ryatuv… doesn’t pull away. It’s like watching fire and lightning find common ground. Violent, unwilling, but inevitable.

I take the lead, making our way through the narrowing tunnel. Ducking beneath hanging stalactites and stepping around bubbling pools of molten rock. Some of the walls glow, casting red-orange light over our path. Shadows dance across the stone, and for a moment, I think I see something moving, a long, serpentine form undulating just beneath the surface. I freeze.

“Elara?” Ryatuv’s voice is close, rough with concern.

“I thought I saw…” I shake my head. “Never mind. Keep moving.”

But the feeling doesn’t fade. The airhumswith tension, like the tunnels themselves are aware of us. Like the Paluga is watching. Waiting. And still we keep walking.

Ryatuv’s breathing grows heavier, his steps slowing only a fraction, but enough. I glance back. His arms are trembling, shoulders straining beneath Z’leni’s weight.

“Let me help—” I move to take some of the burden.

“No,” Ryatuv snaps. “We need to keep moving. You’re the only one not injured.”

“That’s not true.”

“You’re not hurt as bad as he is.”

His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, something raw and dark glimmers beneath his scowl. Something like… fear. Not for himself. For me. My heart stutters. Z’leni groans softly, resting his head against Ryatuv’s shoulder.

“This is weirdly intimate,” he mutters, “but you smell like fire and bad decisions.”

“You smell like blood and arrogance,” Ryatuv growls back, but there’s no venom in it.

“I think I like this version of you. All soft and caring and carrying me.”

“Say one more word and I’ll feed you to the lava.”

“I knew you liked me.”

“Stars help me.”

Their banter has become familiar, almost comforting. But it’s also something else. Something I can’t quite name. There’s heat in their words, but not just from the tunnels. And when Ryatuv shifts Z’leni higher, his hands linger at his waist longer than necessary. Z’leni’s eyes flick up, catching Ryatuv’s gaze and hold it.

The air between them sparks. And suddenly, I’m not sure who I’m more envious of. That realization slams into me like a second quake. I’m jealous of Z’leni… for being in Ryatuv’s arms. And I’m jealous of Ryatuv… for having Z’leni so close.