"One breath at a time."
She squeezed his forearm, a soldier's thanks. Together they stepped into the gulf of shadow.
"Keep your eyes down. It's not real. It wants you to want it."
The stench of the chamber clawed down their throats the longer they stood in it, a sticky mélange of iron-rich blood and swamp-rot that coated the tongue like spoiled syrup. Mikhailis fought the urge to gag. Every shallow breath rasped, the air so humid it felt half liquid, beads of moisture forming on his lashes. Beneath his boots, sap and half-congealed ichor mixed into a slick, treacherous skin; each step squelched, the sound muffled by the cavern's swollen hush.
