Chapter 10

The tunnel walls close in as we stumble forward, the air so thick it's like wading through tar. My robe hangs in shredded ribbons, clinging to my sweat-slick skin, and every step jars the ache between my thighs—a raw, shameful echo of what just happened. Kaelen's ahead, his broad frame barely visible in the dim violet flicker of my failing magic, his dagger slashing at tendrils that dart from the shadows like vipers. Rhea's behind me, her breathing ragged, her hand brushing my back only to jerk away as if burned. The thread between Kaelen and me twists, a jagged current of guilt and terror, and I feel her too now—a faint, unwanted echo in the bond, tethering us all in this nightmare.

The laughter follows us—shattering glass and guttural growls, overlapping, inescapable—bouncing off the stone until it's inside my head, clawing at the edges of my sanity. The second shape from the tear haunts my vision—claws glinting, a silhouette that shifts too fast to pin down—and I swear I hear it whisper, *"Mine… yours… broken…"* The grimoire's pull is a scream in my blood, urging me back to the chamber, and I grit my teeth, fighting it, but my steps falter, my mind fogging with every pulse.

"Keep moving!" Kaelen snaps, voice hoarse, glancing back at me with eyes that don't quite meet mine. There's a distance there—fear, maybe, or shame—and it cuts deeper than the entity's tendrils. What we did—what it *made* us do—hangs between us, a fracture widening with every second. Rhea's silence is louder, her presence a weight I can't shake, and I wonder if she feels it too—the violation, the betrayal, the hunger that wasn't ours.

The tunnel splits, a fork yawning ahead, and we skid to a halt, chests heaving. Left is a faint draft, cold and damp; right is a pulsing warmth, unnatural, alive. "Which way?" Rhea asks, her voice small, cracking, and I turn to her—her green eyes are hollow, her auburn hair matted with blood and sweat. She's clutching her arm where the tendril touched, the skin there mottled, veins darkening like ink spreading under flesh.

"Left," I say, but my voice wavers, certainty slipping. Kaelen nods, too quick, like he's desperate to trust me, and we veer into the cold, the walls narrowing until we're shoulder-to-shoulder, stone scraping my arms. The thread spasms, and I feel his doubt—sharp, fleeting—before he buries it. "We're getting out," he mutters, more to himself than me, but the words ring hollow as the laughter swells, closer now, behind and ahead, everywhere.

A thud—soft, wet—echoes from the dark, and we freeze. My light gutters, plunging us into shadow, and something skitters past, brushing my leg—slick, cold, gone before I can scream. Rhea whimpers, pressing into me, and Kaelen whirls, dagger raised, but there's nothing—just the tunnel, endless and suffocating. "It's toying with us," I whisper, throat dry, and the realization sinks in: we're not escaping. We're being herded.

The floor dips suddenly, sloping down, and we stumble into a cavern—vast, domed, its ceiling lost in blackness. Stalactites drip ooze that hisses on impact, and the walls shimmer with runes I don't recognize—sharp, angular, glowing a bruised purple. At the center, a pool of inky water ripples, unprovoked, and above it floats a shard of the tear—small, jagged, leaking whispers that coil around my mind. The entity's here—I feel it, a weight pressing on my chest—but it doesn't show itself. Not yet.

"Trap," Kaelen breathes, pulling me close, his arm a steel band around my waist. His touch should steady me, but it doesn't—the thread's too frayed, muddled with Rhea's presence, and I flinch, hating myself for it. She steps forward, staring at the pool, her mottled arm trembling. "It's in me," she says, voice flat, and before we can stop her, she dips her hand into the water.

The cavern erupts—runes flare, the pool surges, and tendrils burst from every shadow, faster than before, aiming not to kill but to bind. One snares Kaelen's wrist, yanking him from me; another coils around my legs, pinning me as I scream. Rhea's caught too, lifted, her eyes rolling back as the shard pulses, and the entity's voice booms—*"Fracture… feed… remake…"*

I thrash, magic sparking uselessly, and Kaelen's roar cuts through the chaos—he slashes free, lunging for me, but the tendrils multiply, a writhing mass that drags us apart. The thread screams, stretching thin, and I feel him slipping—not physically, but deeper, his mind fraying as the whispers dig in. Rhea's gone limp, tendrils curling into her veins, and the pool churns, birthing shapes—half-formed, eyeless, reaching.

My vision blurs, the entity's hunger clawing at my soul, and I know we're breaking—our bond, our will, everything. The shard hovers closer, its whispers a promise of oblivion, and I choke on a sob, reaching for Kaelen through the thread, praying it holds as the abyss swallows us whole.