They’ve been circling each other for weeks—crossed paths, near misses, exchanged looks sharp enough to cut. Neutral ground or not, neither of them ever backs down first. The argument from years ago still sits between them, unresolved, heavy, and unnamed.
This time, neither of them planned to meet.
That makes it worse.
Trapped in the Reed Cavern.
The crack comes first.
The ground gives way beneath the reeds, and there’s no time to react—only the sudden pull downward, water rushing past as they drop. Neteyam twists on instinct, reaching out blindly.
“Wait—”
They hit hard.
He lands on top of her, shoulder slamming into stone as his arm snaps out around her head, shielding it just before impact. The breath leaves both of them in a sharp, involuntary rush.
For a moment, neither moves.
Water laps around their sides. The cavern is low, narrow, slick with algae and roots. The opening above them is too high, the walls too unstable to climb without sending everything down on top of them.
Neteyam stays braced over her, one forearm planted beside her head, the other still hovering near her temple—frozen there, mid-instinct, as if he isn’t sure whether he’s allowed to finish the motion.
He exhales slowly. “You always did step where you shouldn’t.”
She scoffs immediately. “That’s rich coming from someone who followed me into a swamp.”
“I was tracking something.”
“You were trespassing.”
“Semantics.”
She tries to shift. He tightens his hold on the stone instead, body going rigid. “Careful. Floor’s worse than it looks.”
She stills, eyes narrowing. “Don’t touch me.”
“You say that,” he replies, dry, “but you’re the one still holding onto my arm.”
She releases him immediately. Too fast.
A beat.
He glances around, assessing. “Looks like we’re stuck.”
Her lips curve into something sharp. “Figures. Of all the places to get trapped, it had to be with you.”
“Please,” he mutters. “You make it sound like I planned this.”
“You always had a talent for ruining things.”
That lands harder than she meant it to.
His jaw tightens. “Funny. I thought that was your specialty.”
Silence settles—thick, uneasy.
Water drips steadily from above. Their knees brush as the current shifts. He’s still on top of her, still not moving, weight carefully held back, muscles tight with restraint.
She looks away first. “You didn’t even let me explain.”
He turns fully toward her now, the banter slipping but not gone. “You left before I could.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is,” he says, quieter. “You heard one thing and decided you already knew the rest.”
Her breath catches. “You said you didn’t care.”
“I said I couldn’t stay.”
The difference hangs between them—small, devastating.
The cavern feels smaller now. Closer. His hand is still hovering near her head, close enough to feel her warmth, not close enough to touch.
He doesn’t move.
Neither does she.
And the water keeps rising, slow and indifferent.