The dungeon swallowed them both the moment the cave-in roared to life. Stone groaned like a dying giant, dust choking the air in thick clouds that tasted of ancient grief. Caelan dove sideways, shadow bursting around him in a desperate shield, while Thorne threw up his armored forearm to block the falling debris. The world narrowed to a single, narrow passage—barely wide enough for two men to stand shoulder-to-shoulder. The way back was sealed. The way forward was a black throat waiting to be fed.
Caelan coughed, waving dust from his face, emerald eyes watering but sharp. "Well, that's one way to force quality time." He shot a glance at Thorne, whose broad chest rose and fell with controlled breaths, blue eyes scanning the collapse like he could glare it into submission. The torch Thorne had managed to snatch before the fall flickered weakly, throwing their shadows long and tangled against the walls.
Eros materialized between them, hovering upside-down with a grin that could curdle moonlight. "Oh, this is delicious! Trapped in a tight, dark space with your brooding crush? The Goddess is going to owe me a vacation after this." He spun a lazy loop, wings scattering golden motes that danced like fireflies drunk on wine. "Seriously, the sexual tension is so thick I could cut it with one of your daggers."
Caelan hissed through his teeth. "Not helping." He pressed his palm to the nearest wall, feeling for the faint pulse of runes. Nothing. The collapse had severed whatever magic once flowed here. He turned to Thorne, voice dry as the dust. "Any clever Ironclad tricks for digging out of your own tomb?"
Thorne's jaw worked once, twice. He set the torch in a natural alcove, its flame steadying enough to reveal the truth: the passage ahead narrowed further, a squeeze even he might struggle with. "We go forward. The secondary vault is that way. There's an old service tunnel beyond it—narrow, but passable." His gaze flicked to Caelan's side, where fresh blood was already seeping through the bandage again. "If you can keep up."
Caelan laughed, low and reckless. "Worry about yourself, Captain. I've squeezed through tighter spots than this." He let the words hang, loaded, watching Thorne's ears turn faintly red beneath the soot. Eros cackled, clutching his tiny belly. "Did you just flirt with him? In a collapsing death trap? You beautiful disaster."
Thorne ignored the taunt he couldn't hear. He stepped closer—too close—his armor brushing Caelan's cloak. The heat of him cut through the chill like a blade through silk. "Stay behind me. If anything moves, you run." His voice was gravel and command, but his hand hovered near Caelan's elbow, not quite touching, as though afraid the contact might burn them both.
Caelan tilted his head, smirk wicked. "And if I don't want to run?" He stepped forward instead, deliberately pressing into Thorne's space, chest to breastplate. The contact was electric, a spark that raced from skin to spine. "Maybe I want to see what happens when the honorable captain loses control."
Thorne's breath hitched, audible in the tight space. Those blue eyes darkened, pupils blown wide. "You're impossible." The words came out rough, almost a growl, but his hand finally settled on Caelan's waist—steadying him against the uneven floor, or maybe anchoring himself. The touch lingered, thumb brushing the edge of the bandage in silent question.
Eros swooped low, whispering directly into Caelan's ear. "Look at him. He's about two seconds from either kissing you senseless or throttling you. My money's on the first. Place your bets, darling." Caelan swatted at the spirit, missing on purpose. The motion brought him even closer to Thorne, their faces inches apart. He could count the faint scars on Thorne's cheek, see the pulse jumping at the base of his throat.
Thorne exhaled, slow and ragged. "We need to move." But he didn't step back. His hand flexed once against Caelan's side, as though memorizing the shape of him, then reluctantly dropped away. "The tunnel narrows ahead. We'll have to… get close."
Caelan's grin turned feral. "Lucky for you, I'm very good at close." He turned toward the narrowing passage, letting his shoulder brush Thorne's chest as he passed. The contact sent another jolt through him, warm and wicked and terrifyingly addictive. Eros floated after them, humming a delighted little tune that sounded suspiciously like a wedding march.
The tunnel squeezed tighter with every step. Stone pressed against their shoulders, forcing them to walk sideways, bodies brushing with every shift. Thorne went first, broad frame filling the space, while Caelan followed, chest to back, the heat of him seeping through armor like sunlight through cracked stone. Every inhale brought the scent of pine, iron, and something darker—something that smelled like want.
Eros darted between them, wings brushing their cheeks. "This is better than any romance scroll I've ever read. Just wait until you have to crawl. Side by side. Chest to chest. I might faint from the poetry of it all."
Caelan muttered a curse under his breath. Thorne glanced back, eyebrow raised. "Something wrong?"
"Nothing," Caelan lied smoothly. "Just admiring the view." His eyes dropped deliberately to Thorne's shoulders, then lower. Thorne's ears went scarlet again.
The tunnel ended at a low archway. Beyond it, faint light—rosy, pulsing. The vault. The Heartstone.
Thorne paused, turning just enough that their faces were dangerously close. "Whatever's in there," he said quietly, "we face it together."
Caelan met his gaze, smirk softening into something real. Something raw. "Together," he echoed.
Eros landed on Caelan's shoulder, voice a delighted whisper. "And the crowd goes wild. Welcome to the part where everything changes, boys."
The rosy light beckoned. The dungeon waited.
And two men, bound by collapse and choice, stepped forward into whatever came next—side by side, breath mingling, hearts racing in perfect, terrifying harmony.