They didn't speak as dawn faded into dusk.
Then, dusk faded into that colorless dark that only the basin seemed to know. No stars, no moon, just the steady pulse beneath their feet.
They had made camp at the rim again, despite the danger. To descend now felt like submission, like walking into a mouth that had already swallowed them once in a dream.
The roots beneath their tent whispered in the dry, hollow voice of old wood, and the mist never lifted.
Dee paced at the edge, low to the ground, hackles raised. Sarissa sat with her back to a thick root wall, checking the haft of her spear again and again. Her hands moved like clockwork, but her eyes didn't blink.
Miles stood watch. Not because it was his turn, but because sleep had abandoned him.
Because something had changed.
The pulse wasn't just rhythmic anymore. It beat out of time now, faster, slower, shuddering at odd intervals like it was waiting for something.
Or someone.
