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V ivienne’s pounding heart kept time with her frantic steps, each beat a desperate drum against her sternum. Time was slipping through her fingers like dry sand, and with every second lost, Owen edged closer to death. The thought clawed at her, more consuming than the bellowing waterfalls behind them, louder even than their own ragged breathing.

A dizzying haze absorbed her surroundings, leaving only what was straight ahead. The flickering glow of the ignis bark blurred into the darkness of the winding cavern. She imagined Owen lying there—ashen, fevered, his skin a battleground of sickness and venom.

No.

She stumbled over a loose stone, her ankle twisting painfully, but she caught herself, palms scraping against the jagged wall. She barely felt the sting. “We have to hurry,” she gasped, casting a glance over her shoulder.

Cirrus and Florence’s faces flickered in and out of shadow, their expressions grim with the same fear gripping her chest. Neither replied. They didn’t need to. Vivienne surged ahead, reckless and wild, every step a declaration that she would not let him die.

When they rounded the final bend and the cavern came into view, Vivienne didn’t stop—she sprinted.

“Viv!” Lewis’ voice rang through the dim space. He ran to her, his arms pulling her into a fierce embrace. “Thank the gods. You’re back! And you found Florence! But…” His voice wavered. "The others?"

Florence’s dark eyes lowered, and she gave a small shake of her head.

Lewis swallowed hard, pressing his lips together in grim acceptance.

Vivienne barely registered it. Her gaze had already locked onto Owen. A strangled noise lodged in her throat. He’s worse. So much worse.

His skin, once sun-bronzed and strong, had turned the shade of storm clouds, his breath shallow, rattling. The venom had spread across his chest, curling up his neck like creeping ivy, dark veins etching a cruel map of his impending death.

She staggered forward, her knees nearly giving out beneath her. “Owen?” Her voice wavered, raw with fear. “Owen, it’s me. It’s Vivienne. We found the flowers, and?—”

Her fingers grasped his hand, recoiling instantly.

Cold.

Not the feverish heat that had ravaged him before, but a creeping, deathly chill. The bottom dropped out of her stomach.

“All we can do is try,” Cirrus murmured behind her.

Try? A hot spark of fury ignited in her chest, flaring through the exhaustion and fear.

“No,” she snapped, her voice like a whip crack in the stillness. “We don’t just ‘try.’ We do everything. Every godsdamned thing. We will save him.”

She tore her tote from her shoulders and shoved it into Cirrus’ hands, her fingers trembling but relentless. Cirrus unwrapped the handkerchief, revealing the bundle of glowing Noctilum petals. Lewis’ breath caught as his eyes widened.

“You—” His voice broke with astonishment. “Are those the?—?”

“We can have a botany lesson later,” Florence interjected, smacking his reaching hand away from the flowers.

Cirrus leaned in, his expression fierce. “You read the cave walls, Banns. What do we do next?”

Vivienne swallowed, forcing herself to focus. “The paintings said the petals can be ingested or applied directly to the wound,” she said, her hands already moving, plucking the delicate petals from their stems. “We do both.”

Cirrus and Lewis worked quickly, using the last of their water to grind the petals into a luminescent paste. Florence crouched beside Owen, tugging at the silken bandage wound around his arm. The Arachsylphs had done their work well—the silk was stronger than any fabric, nearly impossible to remove.

"How do we get this damned thing off?" Florence muttered, yanking at the unyielding threads.

Lewis pursed his lips, then whistled—a sharp, deliberate note that echoed through the cavern.

Vivienne stiffened as something shifted in the shadows. A pale, glistening figure emerged from the darkness, its many legs whispering against the stone.

Cirrus made a strangled noise, pressing himself back against the wall, his breath shallow.

One of Florence’s daggers was already in her palm. "What in the everdark is that ?"

Lewis grinned, extending a finger to stroke the creature’s gossamer fur. The Arachsylph let out a soft, clicking purr.

"This," Lewis said proudly, "is Charlie."

“Charlie?” Florence echoed, dumbfounded.

"He’s an Arachsylph," Lewis explained.

"His group wove Owen’s bandage. This one kept coming out to check on their patient. We’ve bonded.”

Cirrus dry-heaved.

Lewis made a slicing motion above the commander’s arm.

The spider-like creature observed them with its glimmering, multifaceted eyes before lifting its hooked appendages. In a series of quick, precise movements, it sliced through the silk, unraveling the protective layer.

The second the bandage fell away, bile rose in Vivienne’s throat.

The wound was far worse than she had feared. The flesh around the bite was necrotic, swollen, blackened with creeping veins. Twin punctures gaped like bottomless pits, oozing a sickly dark fluid. The infection had spread viciously, unchecked.

Florence sucked in a sharp breath, pressing a hand to her mouth. “Gods above.”

Vivienne steeled herself. “We’re going to need more than we thought.”

Cirrus and Florence crushed more petals while Lewis carefully smeared the glowing paste over the wound. The moment the Noctilum touched Owen’s skin, the petals pulsed with blue light, sinking into him like liquid silver.

Owen didn’t stir.

No flinch. No groan. No reaction at all.

Vivienne’s fingers trembled as she pressed a small amount of paste between his lips, using the last of their water to coax it down his throat. His body remained motionless, frighteningly still.

They had used ten flowers. Only four remained. A heavy silence fell over the cavern.

Lewis wiped his hands on his trousers. "Now what?"

Vivienne’s voice was barely a whisper. "Now we wait."

No one spoke. No one moved.

She turned her eyes skyward, searching the cold stone ceiling as though it held answers. Elandra… please…

The hours stretched on, twisting time into an unbearable, endless limbo. They took shifts, but Vivienne refused to leave Owen’s side. She lay beside him, her bedroll pressed against his, listening to every fragile breath, counting every beat of his weak, fluttering pulse. Cirrus slept beside her, close enough that she could feel his warmth, a silent anchor in the abyss of waiting.

Every few minutes, she reached out, fingers pressing against Owen’s wrist, terrified she would find nothing. Each time, the pulse remained. Faint. Slow. But still there. She swallowed past the tightness in her throat, willing the words into reality, whispering them over and over like a spell. Come back. Don’t leave me. Stay, Owen.

Her eyes burned with exhaustion. Her hands ached from clenching. But she would not stop. She would not let him go.