The room listened with them. The murals held their breath.
Mikhailis exhaled sharply. He let desire fall out with it. "Alright. Treasure's for later. We move."
He turned from the gate, and the Whiteways changed their face again. The passage ahead tightened, ribs closer, bone-spike vents along both walls like rows of teeth ready to chew ankles. The breathing here had a hiss in it, a little trick of air that wanted to trip minds.
He lifted two fingers. The Tanglebeetles clicked once and scuttled forward, careful feet, deliberate steps. They knew where to put weight and where not. The first vent spat a cluster of shards when a pad depressed; the beetle's line snapped out and hooked the spray, drawing it into an arc that missed the front shield by a whisker. The thread sang on the return; the shards pattered into a cone Silk had already dropped. Frost kissed. Ember tapped. The cone went to amber stone with a tidy crk.
