I look ahead again, following the line as it stretches forward, cutting through the Deadlands toward something bigger than just survival.
“Because I’m not letting this go,” I add.
“Didn’t think you would,” he replies.
“And you’re not walking away this time,” I say, glancing at him.
“No,” he says, meeting my gaze. “I’m not.”
The certainty in his voice lands solid, unshaken, and something in me settles around it in a way I don’t question.
“Good,” I say quietly.
We keep moving.
Toward the border.
Toward the truth.
CHAPTER 28
HRASK
The air changes before the ground does.
The Deadlands bleed into Myrza through fractures no one maps officially, and the moment we drop into the first cut in the terrain, the wind shifts from open, abrasive chaos into something tighter, more controlled. The heat still clings, but it doesn’t press the same way underground; instead, it lingers in the stone, radiating outward in slow pulses that make the walls feel like they’re breathing around us. Dust hangs heavier here, less likely to scatter, and every step we take sends a faint echo ahead of us, bouncing off narrow rock corridors that twist deeper beneath the surface.
“Careful,” I murmur, raising a hand as I slow near the entrance to a tighter passage. “Sound carries down here, and I don’t feel like announcing we made it this far.”
“I’m not stomping,” Jolie shoots back, though she adjusts her step anyway, her boots landing softer against the uneven ground.
“You limp louder than you think,” I reply, glancing back just long enough to catch the way her expression shifts.
“Keep talking,” she mutters. “See how that works out for you.”
“Just saying,” I add, lowering my voice as I angle into the narrower corridor. “You’re not subtle when you’re compensating.”
“I’m not subtle when I’m annoyed either,” she fires back, but the edge in her voice is thinner now, worn down by the distance we’ve already covered.
The tunnel narrows further as we move deeper, forcing us into single file, the walls closing in just enough to brush against my shoulders if I don’t adjust my posture. The scent changes here too, less open air and more mineral—stone, dust, something faintly metallic that clings to the back of my throat.
“You’ve been through here before,” Jolie says quietly behind me, not a question.
“Yeah,” I reply, running my hand lightly along the wall as I move. “Not officially.”
“Of course not,” she mutters. “Wouldn’t be your style.”
I smirk slightly, though she can’t see it.
“You learn a few things when you stop following the routes they give you,” I say. “This one cuts under patrol grids if you know where to come up.”
“And if you don’t?” she asks.
“You don’t come up at all,” I answer.
She exhales softly behind me, the sound carrying just enough to tell me she’s still right there.
“Good,” she says. “Love that for us.”
