Adrian POV
"Five minutes," Mark's voice crackled through, comms finally cutting back in as he and Thorne's team hit the final corridor. "The structure's failing above you. We need a direction, not a debate."
"We're working on it," I said.
"Work faster."
The floor groaned under us, a long, deep sound like something enormous shifting in its sleep.
Quinn didn't move. He stood transfixed at a spot; since I had known him, this was the first time he looked like a man who had run out of moves.
"She's right," he said. "I'm the anchor."
"Then step away from it," Ariston said. "Let it go."
"It doesn't work that way." Quinn's voice was steady, but his hands weren't.
"I've spent twenty-five years teaching this thing that grief only gets to exist if someone controls it. I can't just decide to stop believing that. It won't believe me."
"Try," Elena said.
