Page 139 of Tears for a Broken Sky
Of course it did. The only other option was the sea. And I doubted he would swim all the way back to the beach from here.
Caelen gave me a flat look. “He couldn’t have passed out in a meadow?”
“No,” I said grimly. “He’s Slade.”
I scanned the terrain ahead, then asked, “The Wilds are close to here, right?”
Caelen shrugged. “Close is generous. You can walk to them from here in a few days. The forest clears eventually—leads straight to the edge.”
“So he might not even make it near the garrison if he came this way?”
“Most likely he’d end up in the woods. He’d have to find his own way back. No telling how deep these caves run.”
“No time like the present to find out.” I lit my hands.
Caelen eyed the glow. “Handy trick, that.”
I gave him a smug smile. “Try not to get jealous.”
“Oh, I’m trembling in envy. Truly.”
I picked up a piece of driftwood and lit the end, then passed it to him. He took it with a quiet sigh.
“You know,” he said, watching the flame, “I never wanted powers. Not really. But that—” his gaze flicked to my hands, “—that’s not too bad.”
We pressed into the crevasse. It swallowed the light, growing colder the deeper we went. Our boots echoed on damp stone, the scent of iron growing stronger with each step.
“Remind me why we’re doing this,” Caelen muttered.
“Because we’re the only ones who can.”
“That’s not comforting.”
I paused, crouching by another splash of blood. A piece of torn fabric—dark, coarse, familiar. His uniform.
“He crawled through,” I said. “Dislocated shoulder, maybe. He probably couldn’t climb.”
The path twisted, getting deeper and darker. It was narrow in places and we had to squeeze through.
“Let’s hope the tide doesn’t come up,” Caelen muttered as his feet splashed on the ground.
The tunnel stretched on. Further than it should’ve. We passed bones—some animal, some not. A smear of blood streaked one wall, drying to black.
Something skittered ahead—too fast to see, but big enough to make Caelen stop short. We both went still.
“I hate this,” he whispered.
“Welcome to the club.”
The ground sloped downward, the ceiling dropping low. We ducked beneath it, our lights throwing long, distorted shadows on the stone. I could feel it now—that pull. Not just to Slade. To something older. Wilder.
Caelen cleared his throat, voice a shade tighter. “Is it just me, or does the air feel… wrong?”
“It's not just you.”
We kept going.
A sound—wet and slithering—echoed ahead. Caelen stilled. “What was that?”
