Dyathne’s head swiveled again, her hair hitting Math in the eye. He blinked.

  At least with the lights, he could tell when his eyes were open, he reasoned.

  A maniacal laugh started to bubble up out of his throat, matching the cadence of the terror emanating of Dyathne in waves.

  The crackling of the cartilage in his trachea was audible in the absolute silence as he forced the laugh down.

  Dyathne turned at the sound of it, observing his faint silhouette backlit by the two glowing orbs. It was the first she had seen of him since sundown.

  The towering man sat close to her, his shoulders rounded forward, his head hanging low, chin to chest. He looked like a man wrung out.

  Too drained, too ignorant, possibly too crazed, to properly fear the Venemon.

  The orbs were moving again, the only sign was a very slight undulation up and down as they traversed. It was easier to track them with a partner, as their approach was only really detectable when observed from an oblique angle.

  Each Venemon aimed for just one Ashwalker. Chose one. Always.

  It was one of the reasons they were paired.

  If she put enough space between herself and Math, she would be able to tell how far away they were by watching the one tracking him. But that meant leaving herself vulnerable. Could she communicate to him she needed him to reciprocate?

  There was no time.

  Silently, she sliced their short tether and crouched on her feet. She crept sideways, crossing her steps and counting each one.

  Eyes locked on the orbs and leaving her right side turned toward where she had abandoned Math. She was about four meters from him when she realized the orbs hadn’t moved.

  No.

  She squinted at the lights.

  They had moved.

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  They were still moving.

  Both Venemon were coming right at her.

  She turned her head in Math’s direction, but he had been swallowed back into the void. If he moved now, if he ran, or crawled, or if the Sear shifted, they might never find each other again.

  She couldn’t do that to another person, especially not one who had already spent so long in the Sear.

  All her training, all the brutal days and nights of performing the Rite fell away, leaving only the First Commandment of the Siro:

  Forfend the People.

  Not thinking again, she reached for the compass around her neck. With just her left index finger, she deliberately folded each of the nine concentric circles of the sphere until they were a single, flat ring against her breast.

  Instantly, her right arm felt as though she had stuffed it into a pyre, familiar searing heat cutting through her appendage from fingertips to collarbone.

  “Iphan, forgive me,” her voice was low, pinching the words with sorrow.

  But it was definitely audible.

  The Venemon glowed more brightly, shone for her.

  Dyathne slammed her blackened palm onto the ground.

  Nothing.

  Then, a hum. It came from the fog. It was all around her. It was inside her.

  The burning in her arm began to ebb as she lurched toward where she had left Math, feet unsteady, one boot snagging on the other with every stumble forward.

  The Venemon were frozen, suspended in the abyss. As she worked her way to where she thought she left Math, Dyathne could see just how close the Venemon had come. Two, maybe three paces, and she could have touched one.

  She had never seen them do this. Venemon don’t do this.

  If she and Math had been within the bounds of the waypoint, the Venemon would have simply winked out when they hit the boundary.

  How many steps had she taken? She should have been back to the campsite by now.

  Adrenaline flooded her body and she felt a tremor, cold sweat streaming down her spine. Had Math been pulled into the fog? Had she lost her bearings?

  “Dyathne?” Math all but shouted over the reverberation flooding them.

  “I’m here,” she replied, furious, fearful. “Follow my voice.”

  It was terrible advice. The Sear swallowed sound, moved it, sent it elsewhere and then back.

  “What’s happening?” Math bumped into her back.

  Dyathne reached behind her to grasp his jacket.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. The sound was getting louder, the register lower.

  Not knowing what else to do, Dyathne reached for the coil of rope on her hip. Reconnecting to Math seemed as good an idea as any.

  Her hands were shaking, but she couldn’t tell if it was from fear or a reaction the droning flowing around them. She guessed she had only lost a meter and a half of line when she had cut it. Still enough to make the climb out.

  “Tie on again,” she shouted, pushing the rope to where she thought Math’s chest to be.

  His hand brushed hers as he took it without a word. The vibration abruptly ceased, the silence of the abyss washing over them.

  “There,” he said, breaking the hush.

  It wasn’t a confirmation that he had tied on. Large hands gently held either side of her head, moving her field vision from the orbs where her eyes had been locked. He directed her view up.

  The fog wasn’t the impenetrable black anymore. Day was breaking above the morass of the Sear.