Kai followed the tracks.

  Carefully. Slowly. Each step placed with deliberate silence, dagger ready in his hand, eyes scanning every shadow. The corridor widened as he went, the ceiling rising higher, the carvings on the walls growing more elaborate. Spirals everywhere. Endless spirals.

  The footprints were clear in the dust. Five sets, maybe six. One dragged a left foot—someone injured. He filed that away.

  He passed a scrap of cloth, caught on a sharp edge of stone. Then scuff marks, like someone had fallen and been helped up. Then small dark spots on the floor. Blood. Old and dried, but blood.

  They're not having an easy time either.

  The realization should have comforted him. It didn't. Desperate people were dangerous people.

  Ahead, the corridor curved. And from beyond that curve, faint but unmistakable—

  Voices.

  Kai's heart slammed against his cracked ribs. He slowed. Crept. Pressed his back against the cold stone and edged toward the corner, each breath too loud in his own ears.

  The dagger handle was slick with sweat.

  He peered around the edge.

  ---

  A chamber. Wider than the corridor, natural but shaped by hands long ago. Glim moss covered the walls in thick patches, casting uneven light that flickered like candle flame.

  Five people.

  They sat in a rough circle, surrounded by the debris of survival—worn packs, a small wooden chest, scraps of cloth, the remains of a meal. They looked exhausted. Dirty. Scared. Their clothes were torn, their faces hollow with hunger and fear.

  But one stood apart.

  Stocky man. Broad shoulders. Hands that hung at his sides with scarred knuckles. His face was hard, jaw set, eyes constantly moving—assessing, judging, calculating. He wasn't sitting with the others. He was pacing. Speaking.

  Kai strained to hear.

  "—take what we need. That's how it works now." The man's voice carried, rough and certain. "The weak don't survive. That's the rule. That's the only rule."

  The others shifted uncomfortably. No one argued.

  One of them—younger, quick movements, short hair that stuck up at odd angles—glanced around the chamber. His eyes swept past Kai's hiding spot. Paused. Squinted.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Kai froze. Stopped breathing.

  The young man's gaze lingered for a heartbeat. Two.

  Then moved on.

  He didn't see me. He didn't—

  But it was close. Too close.

  Kai's eyes found another figure. Broad, solid, quiet. This one sat apart from the group, back against the wall, tending a wound on his arm. He didn't look at the stocky man. Didn't engage with the conversation. Just wrapped his injury in silence, eyes on his own work.

  The others—two more, a man and a woman, both gaunt and hollow-eyed—huddled together near the chest. They had supplies. More than Kai had. A small pile of weapons—daggers, a crude spear, something that might have been a club. Food wrapped in cloth. The chest itself, old wood with metal bands, probably held more.

  Join them?

  The thought flickered through his mind. They had numbers. Supplies. Safety in numbers.

  But that stocky man. That face. That voice. The way the others shifted when he spoke, like dogs waiting to be struck.

  Trouble. That one's trouble.

  Kai settled deeper into shadow and waited.

  ---

  He waited too long.

  A scuff. A stone dislodged beneath his foot. Something—he never knew what—gave him away.

  One of the gaunt ones looked up. Stared directly at his hiding spot. Opened mouth. Shouted.

  "Someone's there!"

  Kai ran.

  He spun and sprinted back the way he'd come, dagger still in hand, feet pounding against stone. Behind him, shouts erupted. Footfalls. They were faster than he expected.

  His injured knee screamed. His ribs burned. But he ran.

  They cornered him in a side passage—a dead end, a recess that went nowhere. He spun to face them, dagger up, chest heaving.

  Four of them. The stocky man in front.

  He grinned. It was not a friendly expression.

  "Well, well. Look what wandered in."

  Kai said nothing. Just watched. Waited.

  The man stepped closer. His eyes dropped to Kai's pocket—where the cog was, where the remaining bread was, where the empty potion vial sat.

  "Supplies. Dagger. Whatever else you're carrying. Hand it over."

  Kai's grip tightened on the dagger. "No."

  The grin faltered. The others shifted behind him, uncertain.

  "You think you have a choice?" The man's voice dropped. Harder now. Dangerous.

  "I always have a choice."

  He moved.

  He lunged fast—faster than a man his size should move. His hand grabbed for Kai's wrist, for the dagger, but Kai twisted away. The dagger sliced air, caught fabric, drew a thin line of blood across the man's arm.

  He hissed. Came again.

  The fight was messy. Desperate. Real.

  The man was stronger—his blows landed like stones, driving the breath from Kai's lungs, sending pain exploding through his already-battered body. Kai took hits. Gave them. The dagger opened shallow cuts on the man's arms, his chest, his face.

  But he kept coming.

  Kai's back hit the wall. Nowhere left to go. The man's hands closed on his throat—

  And Kai's free hand found a stone. Loose rock on the floor. His fingers closed around it.

  He swung.

  The stone connected with the man's temple—a dull, wet thud that echoed off the walls. His eyes went wide. His grip loosened. He staggered back, one hand going to his head, blood seeping between his fingers.

  Kai stood over him, dagger up, stone still in his other hand. Breathing hard. Waiting.

  The others hesitated. No one moved to help their leader.

  The stocky man spat blood onto the stone. His eyes—when they found Kai's—held something new. Not just anger. Recognition. Of what, Kai didn't know.

  "This isn't over." The man's voice was thick, but the promise was clear.

  He gestured sharply. His people—his group, his followers—moved to him. Helped him stand. Backed away from Kai, eyes watchful, cautious.

  One of them—the quick one with short hair, the one who'd almost spotted Kai earlier—glanced back as they retreated. His eyes met Kai's. Not hostile. Curious. Maybe even impressed.

  Then they vanished into darkness.

  ---

  Kai leaned against the wall. Chest heaving. Body screaming.

  Alone again.

  But alive.

  He slid down until he was sitting, back against cold stone, dagger still in his hand. His whole body shook. His arm bled from fresh cuts. His ribs howled with every breath. His face throbbed where fists had connected.

  He took out the remaining half of the healing potion and drank. The warmth spread through him, slower now, weaker—but it worked. Cuts closed. Bruises faded from purple to yellow. The sharpest pains dulled to aches.

  Not healed. But better.

  His mind replayed the fight. The stocky man's face. The others' hesitation. The way no one had moved to help him.

  They're not loyal. They're scared.

  And the quick one—the one with curious eyes. That look he'd given. Not like the others.

  That one's different.

  Kai took out the cog. Held it in his palm. Watched the glimlight catch its teeth.

  I need people. But not like them. Not him.

  He stood. His body protested, but he forced it to obey. Couldn't stay here. They might return. The stocky man had promised.

  He chose a direction away from where they'd gone. Deeper into the unknown. A smaller side passage, harder to follow, easier to defend.

  He walked until he couldn't hear his own heartbeat anymore.

  The cog warmed his palm. He held onto it like a promise.

  Somewhere ahead, there had to be better than this.