Chapter 9 · Blood on the Map

"Move your ass, Jace! We don't have hours, we have minutes!" Lira's voice sliced through the static of the Deep, her hand gripping my shoulder hard enough to leave bruises.

I didn't look at her. I was staring at the shimmering, jagged line of the perimeter—the boundary where the dead zone ended and the nightmare began. The System prompt was still blinking red in my vision, a persistent, annoying reminder that my coordinates were leaked. The Old King didn't just know where I was; he had a lock on my soul.

"I'm moving," I snapped, shoving her hand off. "Building a wall isn't like ordering a pizza, Lira. It takes materials. It takes time."

"And we're out of both," she retorted, stepping into my space. She was breathing hard, her chest heaving under that worn leather tunic. She smelled like ozone and old iron. "The Anchor is barely holding. If we don't get a physical barrier up, the first wave of hounds will tear through us before you can even say 'level up'."

I looked down at the map etched into the gray soil. It was bleeding. Literally.