The warren smelled of iron and resin. Wounds sealed in gauze-thread. Armor polished with spit and dust. Everything was being sharpened, even the silence.
Buzz watched from the edge as factions that had never shared a breath now circled the same chamber. Glowbeetles flickered signals across the walls, testing how far their light could be seen through stone. Scarabs beat low, deliberate rhythms meant to steady heartbeats. Centipedes coiled in spirals so tight the air itself seemed braced.
Zza moved through it all with hands never still. Wrapping silk, stitching carapace cracks, tightening straps of improvised armor made from bark and stone. She said nothing. She didn't need to. Every insect that passed her eyes left steadier than it arrived.
Buzz found her when the chamber finally thinned, allies returning to their corners. She was sitting against the wall, fingers raw, threads still clinging to her wrists.
"You're going to burn yourself out," he said.
