Chapter 13 · New Home, Same Nightmare

"Don't you go limp on me." Kane's hand clamped around my wrist and yanked me up before the floor could eat my boots.

"I'm not limp, I'm dissolving!" I hissed. "This whole damn floor is dissolving!"

He didn't answer. He just dragged me.

The ground wasn't ground anymore. It was meat. Wet, pink, pulsing meat that sweated acid. Every step we took sizzled. My rat-feet — these stupid little trash-mob claws The Maw gave me — were smoking at the tips.

"Move," Kane gritted out. Blood was still seeping from his side. Fresh. Hot. "You stand still here, you get digested. You get me?"

"Yeah, I get it, thanks for the tour," I snapped. "Love what you've done with the place. Very intestine-chic."

He shot me a look. That flat, pissed-off, I'm-bleeding-out-and-you're-making-jokes look.

And then he stumbled.

Just a little. His knee buckled. His grip on my wrist tightened like a vise and his other hand slammed against the wall — which, gross, gave under his palm like a bruise.

"Whoa. Hey." I grabbed his jacket before he face-planted into the acid. "You good?"

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine. You're leaking."

"I said I'm fine, Jessa."

His voice dropped. Low.