Huddled in the pitch-black crawlspace behind the pile of leviathan ribs, Roxy pressed her hands over her ears, curling into a tight ball.
She squeezed her eyes shut, but it didn't help. The terror wasn't something she could shut out; it was in the air, in the rock, in the very marrow of her bones.
The floor beneath her jumped three inches. Dust and rock chips rained down on her hair, coating her in the debris of the ocean floor.
She couldn't see anything. The crawlspace was dark and crawly.
She could only hear. And what she heard was a sound that wanted to tear her eardrums.
It was a sonic blast, unmistakably Caspian's voice, followed by the sickening wet sound of meat impacting meat.
It sounded like a semi-truck slamming into a wall of wet clay.
"Please," Roxy whispered into her knees, her voice trembling and small in the dark. "Please be okay. Please don't die."
