The scorpions converged. Skittering over the sand on their pincer feet, smelling blood and destruction. I had never encountered a scorpion before, but these ones seemed fast. Faster than any insect had a right to be.

Forward. Forward.

The bottoms of my feet blistered and screamed. The sharp daggers in my bones pierced my nerves, but not my will, with every movement. My thighs burned from the strain; my knees trembled from the weight. My lungs heaved against the draw for sticky air. Every movement shot pain into my hips and groin.

Then the stings came like lightning bolts to the tops of my feet, my calves, crawling up my pant legs. Again and again.

I released a guttural roar as though to frighten the creatures away.

Bastiaan moved—either trying to help or trying to swat away the little beasts. That small, unexpected movement sent my knees buckling.

His weight almost crushed me, but the scorpions stopped.

Time had frozen once more.

Thank the Well.

Sweat poured down my face, sticking my hair to my temples. I tried to stand but my knees wouldn’t support me. Bastiaan’s eyes were closed. My heart leaped into my throat and I shook him. Then slapped him.

“Bastiaan!” His eyelids fluttered and I exhaled. “Stay. Alive.”

I couldn’t get him on my back again, so I grabbed his wrists and pulled. My hands—sweaty as they were—slid right off. I needed to get us out of here before the Trials awoke again.

I unbuckled his belt and tied it to each wrist like shackles, then looped it around my body and marched forward with every fatigued muscle that remained. He scooted along on the sand, inch by inch. My feet struggled to find purchase, but I didn’t stop. Refused to stop.

This was the last Trial. Once we conquered this . . .

Ahead rose a massive dune. With every agonizing step, my skin turned a darker shade of red, burning with every minute that passed. Halfway up the dune, my skin started to bubble. My stomach lurched and I focused forward.

Bastiaan grew heavier. I gripped his coat and heaved. One step gained. Heave. A half step. Heave. A quarter step.

The blisters burst, exposing raw wounds to the scorching heat. Burns on burns. I growled and forced another step. When I crested the sand dune, I nearly cried. On the other side, at its base, rose the wall of dust marking the end of the Trial. We were almost there.

I hauled Bastiaan on top of the dune, every movement stretching my tight, burned skin. Buzzing tickled my ears.

Time started again.

A haunting scuttle followed. I threw a glance over my shoulder. Behind us, the scorpions formed a red-black current along the sand, winding toward me and gaining speed. They did not falter. They knew their prey, and they would not stop until they devoured us.

There would be no surviving this attack.