The last thing I see is him fitting another few pieces into place as I come up for air, trying my best to keep my body wedged in the hole, my hands blocking it as best I can, my face tilted upward so I can still breathe.
But neither one of us has much longer.
“Five minutes remaining,” Ken announces, and he must be tracking time without the stupid hourglass, or more likely, just making shit up.
Can AI tell time? Who knows. Not me!
“Ah, time flies when you’re not having fun,” I tell him glibly. “How’s he doing down there?”
Ken doesn’t answer, just continues narrating, looking more and more excited as the sand continues to fall.
There’s no way I’m going to be able to sit like this much longer.
I shift slightly, knowing I’m making it harder for Zan, and immediately stop.
How long can I hold my breath?
Well, we’re about to find out.
Taking in a deep breath, I fill my lungs, then exhale, trying to hyperventilate and fill my body with as much oxygen as possible. I don’t even know how I remember that, but weird facts have a habit of popping up when your adrenaline is running high.
That much I’ve learned in the last week or so.
It feels impossible to feel as strongly for Zan as I do right now, but all I can think about is that I don’t want to make this harder on him. I want him to solve this puzzle. I want him to kill the worm chewing through his wing. I want us to get out of here so I can hug him and tell him how grateful I am that he put me first.
One more deep breath.
Now sand is covering my face.
I manage to reach up through the sand and plug my nose, holding my breath as long as I can. It feels like I’m fighting for air, and even though I want to move, want to come up for it, I don’t want to risk Zan getting more hurt down there.
So I hold my breath.
And I hold my breath.
And just when I think I can’t anymore?—
BOOM!
A shockwave hits the glass, and the next thing I know, I’ve tumbled out on a wave of sand onto the ground in the clearing.
Zan rips the sandworm off his wing, swearing words the translator doesn’t quite pick up, but I can tell he’s enraged. He must be in a lot of pain.
He scoops me up into his arms and stares deeply into my eyes.
“You should not have done that,” he says, the words icy with anger.
I blink up at him, my eyes gritty from the sand, lungs burning, and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him in for a long kiss.
“I would do it again,” I finally say.
The chicken clucks happily, flapping her wings as she devours the sandworms. There are only three or four left now that I can see, and they’re huge—easily the size of my leg and the width of my torso.
Absolutely foul.
“They would have killed you,” Zan tells me, following my gaze.
“That was disgusting,” I say, completely exhausted. “Are you hurt? Show me your wing.” Worry spikes through me, and I grab the hard boney scaled part of his wing.
