Marks in Stone

For a long while after the watcher vanished, neither of them trusted the dark mouth under the trailing plants. They checked the vent twice without going fully in, listened for movement until their ears invented it, and only drifted into thin, broken sleep near dawn when nothing else came. By morning, the spot where the watcher had vanished looked harmless again.

Light moved across the canal in clean white bands. The trailing plants over the half-hidden vent stirred in a soft breeze, and the stones around it held no sign of passage. Elias stood at the shelter mouth with one hand braced against the frame until the ache under his ribs settled into something he could work around. Lina was a few steps away, wrapped in pale cloth, her damp hair now dry but still rough from sleep. When she shifted, she did it carefully, as if the cold from the canal still lived deep in her muscles. She kept glancing toward the plants, then toward him, as if she expected the dark opening to choose one of them.

"You should lie down again," she said.

"If I lie down, I start guessing. I'd rather test something," Elias said.