The silence in the fissure was of a different quality than the silence on the glass above. Up there, it had been a vast, suffocating emptiness. Down here, it was intimate, a held breath. The only sounds were the soft, ragged rhythm of Corvin's sleep, the occasional metallic *tink* as Mara adjusted her gear, and the faint, almost imaginary trickle of water seeping through the obsidian.
Elian watched a single droplet form on the glass wall, a perfect, trembling sphere that gathered the faint light from above. It hung for a moment, a tiny, inverted world, before falling to the dark stone below with a soft *plink*. He caught it on a scrap of cloth, adding its minuscule volume to their meager supply. It was a Sisyphean task, but it was action. It was hope.
Mara's words echoed in the quiet. *We have to be willing to look into the cracks.*
