Jason followed Ylva into the right tunnel, his heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat. The darkness pressed against them from all sides, broken only by the faint glow of phosphorescent moss that grew in uneven patches along the walls.
This was clearly a dungeon that had seen better days because it looked like it had regressed quickly.
The fear in his eyes was clear—not that anyone could see it in the dim light, but Ylva's ears twitched toward him, and Mae's eyes glanced his way.
Things had already gone bad. Jason didn't need Mira to spell it out for him. Her reaction—the way her tail had gone still, the way her voice had dropped to that low, sharp edge—told him everything he needed to know.
Mira was more experienced than Ylva. Jason didn't know the extent of her combat prowess, but he had seen the way she moved. Fluid. Silent. Predatory. If she was worried, they should all be worried.
Mae, surprisingly, kept up with them with ease.
