Tara led the way, thankful for her borrowed boots, which were large but at least had traction. In the flats she brought, she’d have broken three bones by now. Water dripped from a wall seam to the tunnel floor. “If I expected this, I would have packed for it.”

“If I expected this, I would have—”

“Stayed home? Let me do my job?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so,” she said, and checked her watch, as she had three times since arriving in camp. If it took them more than an hour to find Altemoc, they’d miss the evening flight back to Alt Coulumb. Another flight left the next morning, and after that nothing until sunset. Miss both of those, and she’d not make the court date, with or without the deal. She snapped her watch shut. “Shouldn’t you be happy? This seems like your kind of place.”

“Unfinished stone?” His face twisted in disgust. “I was born in Alt Coulumb. My block was quarried from a moonlit pit and weather-shaped on rooftops. Descending into living Rock—it doesn’t feel right.”

“You’re made of stone.”

“You’re made of meat. Maybe after this we can find a nice tight wet dark meat tunnel for you to squeeze down.”

“Point taken.” Her stomach unclenched slowly.

They reached a three-way fork in the tunnel. Each path led down, and all were smaller than the main concourse they’d followed so far. Tara folded and unfolded the map until she found the relevant square. Altemoc’s route continued straight.

She set one hand on the stone and closed her eyes. Lightning spun spiderwebs around her and down into the bones of the world. “Ms. Batan said her team went for the mine offices while Altemoc led his into the depths. Batan heard the scream, went to find him, but ran into a ‘wall of shadow.’ She pushed at the wall; it tried to pull her in, but she escaped.” She frowned. “Huh.”

“Problem?”

“The Craftwork in these tunnels is weaker than it should be. Something draining it would explain the slurry leaks, the revenants. But I don’t see any trace of shadow walls or the other stuff Ms. Batan describes.” The mountain pressed around them, blacker than black, squeezing tiny lines of human Craft, which quivered like seaweed as a leviathan moved through—“Shit.” She grabbed Shale’s wrist. “Run!”

He did, as the tunnel walls began to glow. Ore veins shone brilliant red, and Tara smelled ozone. Red light chased them down the tunnel, casting crimson shadows. Behind her, a roar issued from no throat. Tara glanced back and saw blinding fire. Her boot struck a jutting rock. Her ankle turned. She stumbled, swore. Shale had pulled ahead of her. She skipped three steps, tried the ankle again—sound, though gods and demons did it hurt.

The roar was nearer. She heard a lightning crack. She could not outrun the coming fire.