“You make it sound like a choice.” He paused, and his movements fell silent. “Sorry. Give me a moment.”

Millie crouched and dragged Lariel into the entrance of the crawlspace.

“I’ll go ahead,” she called, and then to me, much quieter: “Try to talk him through it.”

I slipped past her and returned to the base of the shaft. The light pitter of falling dirt fell quiet again.

“I’m beginning to think blasting through the South Gate might have been the easier option,” I said.

Finn snorted.

“Are you okay? I should have taken this into account.”

“It’s fine.” He descended another rung; I heard his shoe against the metal. “Did you do this? The darkness?”

“Not intentionally. But I think so.”

“A product of your visions?”

“Kind of.”

“And they’re why the Reverends are so interested in you.”

Sharp as ever. “A part of it, yes.”

A longer pause.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m taking too long, aren’t I?”

“It isn’t much further.”

“I really am fine. It’s just the dark, you know? Makes it feel smaller.”

“Of course.” I reached out and touched his ankle to let him know where I was standing. “Take it easy.”

“It really isn’t a problem.”

He had stopped moving.

“Finn? You’re doing well, I promise.”

“No, I’m not,” he muttered. “Shit, why do I have to be so stupid about this?”

“You can’t help it.”

“Yeah, but I wish you weren’t here to see it. Eater, it’s like the walls are closing in around me.”

I wanted to reassure him, but I didn’t know where to start. The image of the cellar door in the basement was burned into my mind.

“If it’s any consolation, I can’t actually see you,” I said.

He scoffed.

“Can I do anything?” I asked.

“No. I’ll manage, it’s just … difficult.”

“I know.”

It had taken two years before he was able to talk about the cellar. The space where he had been locked up for hours, sometimes full days, hungry and alone, until his grandfather released him. Lightless, airless, cramped. He had never really recovered from those childhood years, and they haunted him even now in small, irrepressible ways. He hated the smell of wine. He couldn’t stand closed spaces. He always left a light burning at night.

Finn descended a few more feet.

“You’re almost here,” I said gently. “Come on.”

I caught the barest yellow gleam as he turned his head my way. Against the blackness all around, his irises glowed. I swallowed.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

He can hear everything. “Just worried about you, that’s all.”

He shuffled down another rung.

“Do I scare you?” he asked.

“No. Except when you do stupid things.”

“Frequently then.”

“More often than I’d prefer. But we’ll get through this, I promise.”

His feet touched the ground.

“And after that?” There was a raw vulnerability in his voice, fear tangled up in hope, and hearing it made my heart ache. I reached out and found his hand.