A flicker of life somewhere buried in the labyrinth.
A presence.
Faint but stubborn.
Falling silent, then flaring again—
like someone pounding on a door from the other side of a nightmare.
The world around him shook as they sank deeper into the fluid.
Caleb froze sections of liquid to buy seconds.
Marcus fought to keep Neol's head above the surface.
Ethan tore free from the fluid's drag to get his arms under him.
All of it blurred behind that singular pressure.
Damian twisted, every nerve in his body aligning toward one point in the heaving wall.
"There," he said.
That spot in the living labyrinth wasn't weaker.
It wasn't brighter.
It wasn't marked.
But the pull—
the pulse—
the impossible, furious urge—
told him it was the only breachable seam in the creature's flesh.
The only direction that mattered.
"Caleb—freeze the surface!"
"Ethan—hit me!"
"Marcus—don't let Neol go!"
They moved instantly.
Not because they understood—
but because they trusted him.
Because whatever lived inside this nightmare had chosen Damian as the one to feel that pulse in the dark.