The root-tunnels should not have fit people. They should have been no more than cracks in the dirt, veins for water and worms. But the hush was generous when it wanted to feed — it widened the cracks for them, so they crawled hunched beneath drooping ceilings of wet roots. Every few steps, fat white grubs dropped from above, splitting on Rafi's shoulders with soft pops.
He barely noticed anymore. The boy in his arms was everything: sweat, fever, and the faintest pulse under cold ribs.
The braid girl crawled ahead, blade in her teeth when both hands had to push aside roots thicker than her arm. Her breath came fast and angry — Rafi knew she hated this place even more than he did. Hated that they were begging the hush to give the boy back instead of stealing him away.
At some blind turn, the tunnel dipped sharply. The braid girl paused, shining her battered flashlight down. A cavern opened below them, a pit so dark the hush's breath rolled out in waves of hot decay.
Rafi shifted the boy's weight, fighting a tremor in his arms. He was so tired. He hadn't eaten in how long? Time knotted down here.
The braid girl pointed: a ledge halfway down, draped in moss and spiderwebs. Nestled there like a heart in a ribcage: something that pulsed faintly red. Not machinery. Not rock. A piece of the hush's real flesh, tangled in roots thicker than tombstones.
Rootheart.
It beat slow, like it dreamed them there. Rafi's bones vibrated with each thud. The boy's eyelids fluttered — then snapped open, pupils wide, staring straight into the hush's hidden core.
A noise left the boy's throat — a wordless moan that echoed against the cavern walls and came back as a chorus of stolen children's laughter. The braid girl pressed a hand to her mouth to keep from screaming.
The hush inside the rootheart spoke with no words: He is mine. He always was. But you may ask. You may bargain.
Rafi's knees nearly gave out. He lowered the boy onto the mossy ledge, cradling his head so it didn't strike stone. His breath came ragged.
He whispered to the braid girl with his eyes: What do we trade?
She didn't answer. She just crawled closer to the throbbing red mass, laid her knife against it — and waited. If they stabbed it, maybe the hush would die screaming. Or maybe it would devour them in a single breath. If they begged it, maybe it would laugh.
Above them, far back up the tunnel, the wrong children howled in one voice. Even here, deep and hidden, there was no safety left.
Rafi leaned down to the boy's ear, ignoring the hush's whisper behind his eyes.
Stay. Stay with me.
But the boy's pupils flicked past him — staring straight into the rootheart, into the hush's old secret. The hush wanted a son back. It wanted them too, eventually.
Rafi and the braid girl locked eyes, blades and hands trembling. One more breath. One more choice: kill it. Feed it. Or join it forever.