Page 158 of The Last Remaining Light

Caelyn moved from his hiding spot and crept closer toward the middle of the gallery. The pull tugged him so hard his knees nearly buckled. He could no longer deny that the sensation came from here.

Or rather—from below.

Terrifying certainty crawled up his spine. Whatever the Starless were following lay beneath this chamber.

Beneath the observatories. Beneath Veylspire. Beneath everything.

Caelyn was frozen in place for a time, staring down into the depression which turned out to be an endless black chasm.

The implications became impossible for him to ignore.

He knew the direction, or at least, knew how to navigate their exit. It was the same sort of way a weathered traveler knows where north is or how a sailor feels the sea beneath a ship.

The certainty frightened him.

Down. They had to go down.

The darkness beneath his veins pulsed in time with his erratic breathing. Caelyn understood now that the Starless were being called too.

Because he felt it. Because some small, terrible piece of him wanted to answer it, too.

Caelyn forced himself to turn around and walk back toward the shelter as quickly as his injuries allowed. Every step away from the depression felt like tearing himself free from invisible hooks.

By the time the muted lights of the shelter appeared, he had reached a conclusion.

The route out of the city was no longer above them or through the side tunnels.

It was below.

Chapter Thirty-Three

“Most people imagine courage as moving forward without fear. They are mistaken. Courage is moving forward after fear has already won.”

— Sister Agatha

Elowynn woke up reaching for him.

Her hand found only cold stone and the edge of a folded blanket. For one disorienting moment, she didn't know where she was.

The relay shelter, the dim lanterns, the old resonance well, and the hollow murmurs of frightened survivors all returned to her in pieces, but none of them came fast enough to stop the panic that seized her chest.

Caelyn had been beside her when exhaustion finally pulled her under. He had been close enough that she could hear the uneven rhythm of his breathing and feel the heat of his body despite the cold spreading beneath the floor.

Now the space beside her was empty.

She rose too quickly. Protest flared through her stiff shoulders and down her spine. The borrowed clothes someone had found for her from the emergency stores twisted around her hips, still unfamiliar after the weight of her ruined gala gown.

Her gaze swept the chamber, searching for the others.

Lora lay curled against Alyra with one hand buried possessively among the stolen crystals, and Alyra slept upright against the wall with her fingers resting within reach of her blade. Blankets had been pulled around weary shoulders as survivors lined the walls, their faces gaunt in the shifting shadows.

But Caelyn was not among them.

The fear that rose inside her wasn't panic. It felt heavier than that. Inevitable. It wedged itself into every place Caelyn had occupied in her life and threatened to hollow them out.

The clinic woman noticed her sitting up and lifted her head from where she had been sorting supplies near the far wall.

“You should still be resting,” she said, though her voice held none of the authority Agatha would have used. She sounded tired enough to collapse on the ground.