“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted. I—”

She’d been too loud. She felt like…something…had just heard her. She focused back on Ser Dalius to apologize and realized he’d grown transparent again. And thus…dimmer. His light was the only thing in this world.

The darkness pressed in. Cara glanced around and began to hyperventilate. She had managed to stave it off for three days. The first few days, she had clung to denial, to music. But now claustrophobia—Cara felt like something was pressing on her from all sides.

“I need light. Light. I’ll sing…”

She mumbled, reaching for her iPhone. She had resolved not to use it. But the darkness—

A scratching sound made Cara choke on her next words. Her eyes roamed the darkness. She whirled, turning to Ser Dalius.

“Do you hear that?”

“What?”

The [Knight] was stiff, possibly hurt from her shouting at him. He looked around. Cara shuddered. She backed up into a sarcophagus.

“Something’s moving in here. You said this place was empty.”

“Possibly mice. Miss Cara, you are hallucinating.”

“Don’t tell me what I’m seeing and hearing! Something’s out there! You—you said undead could rise from corpses.”

“Any corpse. But as I said, in Afiele’s tomb, precautions are kept—”

“Are you sure?”

She looked at him. Ser Dalius frowned, then took on a lugubrious, almost condescending tone as he smiled at her.

“Miss Cara, I have guarded this place for…for at least thirty years! And not once have I seen a single soul, undead or otherwise. If there were ghosts, or other beings, surely I would have noticed.”

“Maybe they don’t want you to. I—I hear something. It’s too dark. Did you have to put out the fire?”

Cara licked her lips. Ser Dalius shrugged.

“It was difficult to maintain. The roots burn—but quickly. I thought about making a torch, but—”

“Yes! Why didn’t you?”

“It’s a waste of wood.”

The prim response made the young woman stare at the [Knight]. He shifted uncomfortably as he floated.

“Well, given the finite amount of wood—”

“I need light! I need a torch! Go make one!”

Taken aback by the desperation in her tone, Dalius floated back a few feet, through a grave. That made it worse. He responded cautiously.

“That’s…hardly a knightly errand, Miss Cara. I’m happy to make a fire and gather food, but a torch seems superfluous. Why don’t I tell you about levels? I know quite a lot of classes. And—”

“Shut up! I need a torch! It’s too dark! Don’t you get it? No—you don’t understand because you’re dead!”

Cara lost her temper and shouted. She saw Ser Dalius flinch. He stared at her, and opened his mouth.

Then—scrutinized Cara.