Chapter 25 · The Ancient Grid Wakes

"Don't."

Lyra's hand clamped around Rowan's wrist before his boot touched the glowing stair.

"Don't what?" he asked.

"Whatever you're about to do." Her fingers shook against his skin. "Don't."

The step pulsed beneath them. The island groaned. Soil slid from the tomato beds, and a cracked pipe burst above them, spraying water that hung in the air before dropping in glittering beads.

Beyond the farm, the seven rescued civilian islands drifted in slow circles. Their currents flickered like dying candles.

"It's pulling the magic out of everything," Rowan said. "If I don't go down there—"

"We find another way."

"There isn't one."

"There's always another way."

"Not this time."

The farm lurched.

Lyra stumbled into him. Rowan caught her around the waist before she hit the dirt. Her torn coat brushed his hand. Blood had soaked through her side, and smoke streaked one cheek.

For one breath, they stood pressed together while the ground tilted beneath them.

She didn't release his wrist.

"Tell me you've got a plan," she said.

"I've got three."

"Three?"

"None of them are good."

"You always say that right before doing something reckless."

"I don't always do something reckless.