“Great,” he muttered. “Fifty-fifty.”
Now there was only the dark.
Leo threw his phone into the right passage. It sailed end over end, screen still glowing, and the creature whipped around, drawn to the brighter, more frantic source. Mira dropped the match into the lantern’s wick. Into pitch black
In pitch black, one light rules. Two lights make war. Choose your hunger. “Great,” he muttered
Mira. She’d had the old camping lantern. The one that took six D batteries and could signal ships. Leo’s stomach dropped. “Where is she?” screen still glowing
Light—real, roaring, daylight-mimicking light—filled the chamber. The creature shrieked across dimensions, unraveling like a ribbon of smoke. The tunnel walls cracked. The ceiling rained dust and roots.
