That explained why the air felt like this—old, stubborn, not meant for anyone to linger. The tunnel swallowed their footsteps and gave nothing back. The only link between them was Veer's grip on her shirt and the soft drag of Cutie's breathing against his chest. He held Cutie like solid weight, one arm under his legs, the other tight around his back, careful with every step so his head didn't hit rock.
Time stretched strangely in the dark. Kaya counted her own breaths to keep it straight—short in, short out, like Veer had told her. After a while, her shoulders ached and her thighs burned, but it felt more like a long, grim walk than hours lost. Twenty minutes? Thirty? Hard to tell when every step looked the same: rough stone underfoot, low ceiling above, claw‑scarred walls just out of reach on either side. Places like this can run for long distances under old settlements, only thin cracks and shafts feeding them air.
