Waiting changed the shape of the space.
We settled where the walls drew inward, backs to stone, sightlines clear. There was only one way for anything to reach us, and Khalid kept it covered without being told. He stood as if the posture had chosen him rather than the other way around.
I sat with my knees drawn slightly up, crossbow resting across them.
That was when I noticed Rasaad's boots.
They stood out in the lantern light—not ornate, not polished, but deliberate. Pale leather, worn smooth rather than scarred. The soles bore faint markings that caught the light when he shifted, and when he did, they made no sound against the stone.
Rasaad followed my gaze before I spoke.
"They're worn by the Sun Soul," he said quietly.
I looked up at him.
"Those who walk rather than remain," he continued. "They're made for long ground and uneven places. For listening before moving."
He shifted his foot slightly, and the boot settled without scrape or echo.
"We travel often," he added. "And lightly. Noise invites imbalance."
Jaheira glanced at him once, then returned her attention to the tunnel ahead.
Silence folded back in.
Somewhere ahead, very faintly, stone shifted.
We all felt it.
Then—
Footsteps.
Light. Careful.
Imoen emerged from the shadows with one hand raised, already signaling for us to hold.
"I went as far as I could without drawing eyes," she said once we were close enough to hear.
The tunnel seemed to draw tighter around the words.
"They've set the next stretch properly this time."
She pointed ahead. "Layered traps. Trip lines tied into deadfalls. Pressure plates close enough that you'd have to clear one just to risk the other. I disarmed what I could earlier, but not these."
Khalid frowned. "W-why not?"
"Because they're watching them," Imoen said.
"Who?"
"Kobolds," she replied. Then, after a beat, "Not the skirmishers we've been seeing."
She crouched and traced the tunnel's shape in the dust with two fingers. "The front line's expendable—spears, blades, meant to stop anyone who pushes straight in. Behind them, archers. Better armor. Short bows. Clear angles down the tunnel."
Her finger tapped once, farther back. "They're positioned so you can't reach the shooters without going through the rest."
Jaheira studied the space ahead, expression unreadable.
"And the traps?" she asked.
Imoen shook her head. "Too exposed. One wrong move and they'd have seen me."
Silence followed—not tension yet, but calculation.
"This is the first place they're holding ground," Jaheira said.
Imoen nodded. "That's how it felt."
Khalid adjusted his grip on his shield, then stilled himself. Rasaad leaned forward slightly, eyes already measuring distance and footing.
I pictured the space as she'd described it—the wrong step, the wrong moment, fire where it didn't belong.
"So," I said quietly, "we don't solve this by inching forward and hoping patience carries us through."
Jaheira's gaze flicked to me—not surprised. Assessing.
Imoen met my eyes. "No."
She stepped aside, clearing the narrow space. "This is the part where we choose how loud we're willing to be."
The mine offered nothing in return.
Only depth.