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The double-headed dog-monster throws back both its heads and roars.

“Orthrus,” Riven says, drawing Frostbite with a metallic hiss. “I suppose every treasure has a guardian.”

“You think?” I snap, and then the monster—Orthrus—is bounding across the chasm, leaping from stone to stone, each landing sending shockwaves through the chamber.

Riven hurls a jagged ice spear toward the creature. It melts before making contact, but the resulting steam buys us precious seconds.

“In here!” Riven shouts, pulling me toward a narrow crevice in the tunnel wall.

We squeeze through the opening, Orthrus’s jaws snapping inches from my leg as we tumble into an alcove.

The monster howls in frustration, one head attempting to force its way through while the other slams against the rock, trying to break the opening wider.

One of its heads hits the wall so hard that the chamber shifts, and I hold my breath, waiting to be flattened in an instant.

“That won’t hold it for long,” I gasp, pressing my back against the stone wall.

Riven’s expression shifts, that calculating gleam I’ve come to know so well entering his silver eyes.

“The Compass,” he says, reaching into his pocket. “If I freeze time?—”

“We can slip past it,” I finish, hope flaring in my chest.

The Stillpoint Compass rests in his palm, its face glimmering softly in the dim light of our hiding spot.

Its power radiates from it in waves, and the light coming off it makes Riven look undeniably dangerous.

If he has any qualms about using the artifact after what happened in the clearing with his guards, he’s doing an excellent job of masking it.

“We’ll collapse the tunnel behind us,” Riven continues, the mechanisms in his mind whirring so quickly that I can see it on his face. “The Star Disc can cut through the support columns while time is frozen. When it resumes?—”

“The beast gets buried under half a mountain,” I finish .

He shoots me a proud smile. “Exactly.”

The wall beside us cracks as Orthrus rams it again, stone fragments showering our heads.

“Now or never,” I say, gripping the Star Disc at my hip.

Riven flips open the Compass.

For a heartbeat, he doesn’t speak. He just stares down at the Compass like it’s alive. Like it’s whispering to him. And while his face doesn’t change, something sharp flickers through the bond. Not fear. Not urgency. No—it’s something colder. Something distant, focused, and dangerous.

When he finally looks up, his silver eyes are gleaming with something I can’t name. Something that makes the air feel thinner and my chest tighten. Because for a moment, it feels like I’m looking at a stranger.

“It’s time,” he says, and then the dial spins, the world around us freezing.

Orthrus’s jaws are locked in mid-snarl. Falling debris are suspended in the air. Even the magma beyond is hardened into unnatural stillness. But it’s not just stillness—it’s absence. Not even an echo remains, and the very air feels like glass, delicate and ready to shatter at the slightest touch.

“Ten minutes,” Riven says, the Compass ticking steadily in his hand. “Let’s make them count.”

We slip past the frozen beast, careful not to touch its motionless form, although I can’t help gawking at it as we make our way by.

Once in the main tunnel, I survey the structure, looking for weak points.

“There,” Riven says, pointing at four massive columns supporting the ceiling. “Take out those pillars, and the whole tunnel will collapse.”

“I didn’t realize you had a PhD in architecture,” I say with a small smile.

“Architecture, weaponry… my talents are endless,” he quips. “Calder used to say I could break anything—even stone ceilings. Especially stone ceilings.” He hesitates, his expression sobering. “He taught me how to see weak points in everything.”

His pain pulses through the bond like a living thing.

“It’s okay to miss him,” I say quietly, squeezing his hand. “Even after everything. Especially after everything.”

His mouth curves slightly, although sadness lingers beneath.

“I don’t know what I feel right now,” he murmurs, something dark crossing his eyes again. “Other than that he’d tell me to stop wasting time and blow up the damn pillars already.”

“Then let’s blow up those damn pillars,” I say, and then I summon my magic, push it into the Star Disc, and send it spinning toward the first column .

Glimmercut slices through the stone like it’s butter, the column remaining upright only because time itself holds it in place. As always, it returns to my hand like a boomerang, and I repeat the process with the second column, then the third.

“Three minutes left,” Riven warns, the Compass’s ticking growing more urgent.

I throw the Star Disc one final time, watching it sever the last support before returning to my palm.

“Run!” Riven grabs my hand, and we sprint toward the exit, leaving the frozen beast and the compromised tunnel behind.

We’re twenty yards down the passageway when the Compass’s ticking accelerates, signaling the end of our borrowed time.

“Brace yourself,” Riven says, pulling me against him, his arms wrapping around me as his ice magic forms a shield at our backs.

Time lurches back into motion, the tunnel collapsing as the severed columns give way, thousands of tons of rock crashing down onto Orthrus.

The monster roars so loudly that I think it’s going to cause another cave-in. But it doesn’t have a chance, because it’s quickly silenced, buried beneath the mountain.

Then, the shockwave hits us, sending us tumbling forward, despite Riven’s shield. We roll across the rough stone, his body cushioning mine as dust and debris rain down around us.

For a long moment, we lie there in the settling darkness, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear. Only the faint glow of the Ember in my satchel provides any light.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, his hand moving to cradle my face. His palm is cold, but the way he holds me—like I’m something sacred, breakable, and irreplaceable—burns hotter than the magma behind us.

“I’m fine,” I assure him. “In case you forgot, I have this pretty incredible thing called supernatural healing ? —”

He cuts me off with a kiss.

It’s not urgent or desperate. It’s reverent. Like he’s trying to memorize the shape of my mouth. Like he’s trying to memorize me, to brand this moment into his bones, so he’ll have it if the rest of the world falls away.

“I know,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing across my cheek, “but that doesn’t mean I’ll ever stop making sure you’re all right. Not when you’re all I have left. Not when you’re the only thing holding me together.”

The absolute, unshakable depth of what he feels for me slams into me again, and I give his hand a gentle squeeze, my heart fluttering despite the chaos around us.

“I love you,” I say softly. “But let’s save the heartfelt moments until we’re not in a collapsing mountain?”

He gives me a quick, playful look as he stands, pulling me up beside him. “Fair enough,” he says, resting his forehead against mine, his voice lowering as he breathes me in. “I’ll get us out of here, and then you can resume your favorite hobby of melting at my feet.”

I smile, but something about the way he says it feels… off. Too smooth. Too carefully placed. Like armor he’s putting on piece by piece.

But he’s watching me, searching my face, as if he needs me to believe him. As if I don’t, something in him will break.

So, I steady my voice and lean into the familiar, giving him what I hope is something to hold onto.

“Just so we’re clear, I’ll only melt for you after we’re safely out of imminent danger,” I say, forcing a light smile.

He nods, that perfect smirk settling into place like it never cracked. “I’ll hold you to it, Starlight,” he says, but the bond stays quiet, even when I reach for it. “Now, let’s get out of here so you can properly thank me for my heroic efforts.”

I give him a mock-exasperated look. “Too much heroism, and your ego won’t fit through the exit,” I say, but instead of returning my comment with something equally as sharp, he squeezes my hand and turns to survey the damage.

The tunnel behind us is sealed. There’s no sign of Orthrus, and no way back to the chamber where Thalia fell. All that remains is the way forward.

We’re making our way out when a roar shakes the mountain from the other side of the collapsed passage.

My heart stops. “That can’t be?—”

“Orthrus,” Riven growls, ice crackling along his blade. “Run.”

We sprint down the tunnel, the enraged howls of the beast growing softer behind us. Eventually, the tunnel narrows, forcing us to slow our pace.

“How’s it still alive after being buried under half a mountain?” I ask as we squeeze through tight spaces.

“Immortal, maybe,” Riven replies as we climb a particularly steep incline. “Or just very, very hard to kill.”

We continue like that for a few minutes, until the tunnel opens into a vast chamber where massive stalactites hang like stone daggers, ready to impale anything below.

“No way out,” I say, scanning the walls. “It’s a dead end.”

The chamber feels smaller, suffocating, pressing in on us as dread pools in my stomach. And even though every instinct is screaming at me to keep moving, hope’s slipping away like water through my fingers.

“Look.” Riven points to a narrow opening high on the far wall, his voice cutting through my spiraling thoughts. “There’s our exit.”

It’s at least fifty feet up the sheer rock face, barely visible in the dim light. But before I can fully process that we’re supposed to somehow get up there, another ear-splitting howl echoes through the tunnel behind us.

Riven sheathes his sword and begins scaling the wall, finding handholds where I see none. His movements are fluid and precise, his apparent wilderness survival training evident in every controlled motion.

He stops after ascending about ten feet.

“Come on,” he calls down to me. “I’ll guide you.”

“You can’t be serious.” My throat tightens as I gaze up the rock wall. If either of us falls when we’re near the top, our air magic could possibly catch us, but that’s not an experiment I want to conduct anytime soon—or ever.

“I’m deadly serious,” he says, staring down at me as if the entire world rests on what’s coming next. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course I trust you.”

After everything we’ve been through, feeling any other way would be impossible.

“Good,” he says, releasing a breath he’d apparently been holding. “Then get over here and climb.”

Gathering myself together enough to somewhat steady myself, I take a deep breath and reach for the first handhold, pulling myself up. Then I do it again, and again. Each foothold seems narrower, each grip more fragile, sending tiny avalanches of dust and gravel cascading into the darkness below.

“Here,” Riven says, stretching down to guide my hand to a secure grip. “I won’t let you fall.”

His eyes lock with mine, and the intensity there makes my breath catch—that fierce, possessive look that says he’d tear the world apart before he’d let anything happen to me.

“I know,” I whisper, and for a moment, the monster pursuing us, the mission, and even the Ember in my satchel all fades to background noise.

Another crash from below breaks the moment.

“Keep going,” I urge him. “I’m right behind you.”

Riven climbs with graceful efficiency, pausing every few feet to help guide me to the safest path. He’s moving slower than he could—I know he could scale this wall in half the time if he were alone—but he refuses to leave me more than an arm’s length behind.

“Almost halfway,” he calls down, reaching to take my hand as I struggle with a particularly smooth section of wall. His grip is sure and strong, ice magic cooling my overheated skin as he pulls me up to his ledge.

For a heartbeat, we’re pressed together on the narrow outcropping, his chest against mine, our faces inches apart. His breathing quickens, frost patterns swirling around us in delicate spirals that reflect his emotions better than words ever could.

“You’re doing great,” he murmurs, his breath cool against my cheek. “Just a little further.”

But before I can respond, the wall at the chamber’s entrance explodes, stones flying in all directions as Orthrus bursts through, both heads snarling, muscles bunching beneath its scorched hide as it locks its coal-red eyes on us.