Eli and the rest of Kairo's team had finally reached what could barely be called safety—a shallow ledge of stone tucked behind jagged rocks, just far enough that the octopus couldn't see them, but close enough that its massive shadow still stretched across the flooded cavern.
The air here was thick and damp, carrying the heavy tang of salt.
Every breath felt weighted, as if even the air was holding its breath with them.
They didn't speak. None of them did.
Zaira and Mel had taken a spot atop a large, uneven boulder, both drenched and pale. Zaira's hand rubbed slow circles over Mel's back, the gesture soft but trembling.
He was trying so hard not to fall apart, his shoulders shaking despite his silence.
His fingers clenched tightly around the edge of the rock as if grounding himself there might keep him from breaking.
Eli didn't join them.
He couldn't sit. His body was running on something sharp and restless—fear, guilt, maybe both.
