The mark behind her heart pulsed.
Three short.
One long.
Down.
Rhaen's stomach dropped.
She didn't want deeper.
But the Walkers were behind.
And the second spark had started.
If she ran toward surface, she'd be herded right into their hands.
If she went down, she might reach a place the core cared about enough to bite them.
Her jaw tightened.
She pointed down.
The operative stared, then nodded once.
They reached into their pack and pulled out a coil of thin rope.
Sea rope.
Salt stiff.
They looped it around an old rail post and tested it.
It held.
Rhaen swallowed.
"Here we go," she thought, and almost laughed at how stupidly calm that sounded.
They started down.
The rope bit her hands.
Her leg trembled.
The mark behind her heart pulsed at every few breaths like it was counting her descent.
The trace wasn't on the floor anymore.
It was on the shaft wall.
A faint line of light sliding down the stone like a worm.
Halfway down, Rhaen heard it.
Not footsteps.
