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Gods. What is this?

I’m already a tangled knot of exhaustion, fear, and adrenaline. I don’t need to add attraction to both of them on top of it. But I do. I feel it.

The steady, unwavering presence of Ryatuv, solid, stubborn, and infuriatingly noble. The way he never lets himself show weakness, except in these rare moments, when the weight of everything presses too close.

And Z’leni, all smirking defiance and sharp grace, his mind always spinning, his eyes always reading more than he says. Even now, bleeding and limping, he finds time to flirt and distract and see me.

No one has ever looked at me the way they do. Different, but… the same. Like I’m something important. Something worth fighting for. Something worth dying for. I inhale shakily, pressing one hand against my cheeks to steady myself. We round a bend in the tunnel and the heat grows suddenly unbearable, like we’ve stepped into a furnace.

A wide chamber opens before us, glowing red-hot. A river of magma snakes through the center, slow and roiling, lighting the cavern from below. The air warps with it, thick and shimmering. Across the chamber, I see an opening. Another tunnel sloping up, faint sunlight bleeding through a crack at the top.

“There,” I breathe.

Ryatuv doesn’t answer. I turn and find him frozen, eyes locked on the magma river. I follow his gaze.

And there—coiled on the far side of the chamber—is a creature I can barely comprehend. Long as a transport, thick as a shuttle hull, its scaled body glows with internal fire. Eyes molten orange open slowly, blinking at us from across the flames.

The Paluga. Or something close to it. We go still. The creature watches. Then… it moves.

Not toward us. Not yet. But the heat intensifies, as if its presence alone commands the temperature. Rocks crumble from the ceiling. Lava bubbles violently, splashing up the banks.

“We run,” I whisper. “Now.”

Ryatuv nods. “Don’t look back.”

He tightens his grip on Z’leni and we bolt across a narrow stone bridge spanning the magma flow, up the far slope, into the tunnel. Behind us, the creature lifts its head, hissing low and long, like the growl of a volcano.

I don’t look back. But my spine crawls as every hair on the back of my neck rises. I swear I feel it watching.

We don’t stop running until the tunnel cools again, and light spills down from an opening above. A vent, wide enough to crawl through. A way out. Ryatuv sets Z’leni down gently, breathing hard.

“We’re close,” I whisper, chest heaving.

Z’leni grins weakly. “I hate to admit it, but… I think I might owe Ryatuv my life.”

“You do,” Ryatuv grunts.

“And I hate you a little less for it.”

They share a look. Not warm. Not forgiving. But… less sharp. Less full of knives. Progress. And then both their eyes are on me. And the silence grows thick.

The heat between us has nothing to do with the tunnels now. I should say something. I should break the tension. But I don’t want to.

My heart pounds in my ears. My skin feels electric. I see them, truly see them. Both of them, battle-worn and scarred and beautiful in their own ways. And something in my chest twists.

I want them both. Not just for now. Not just because of what we’ve survived. But because somehow, impossibly, they’ve become mine. All I have to do now… is claim it.

The tunnel narrows before opening into a jagged tear in the stone. A break in the stone left by the quake. Bioluminescent light peeks through from the other side in stark contrast to the red-glow of the superheated stones. I blink, my lungs tight from the shift in air, from the hope that fills my chest like something fragile.

Z’leni groans and hobbles over to lean against the wall. His hair’s stuck to his forehead in sweaty, bloodied strands, but he still manages a smirk when he sees the light.

“Well, well. I thought death would be less dramatic.”

“You’re not dead yet,” Ryatuv says gruffly. “Though you did slow us down enough to make it a close call.”

“I’ll take that as a love confession.”

Ryatuv rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t look away. He stares at Z’leni longer than necessary. His expression is unreadable, but something passes between them. Some silent acknowledgment of survival, of how close they both came to not making it.