I have no idea where he’s taking me, but I find I no longer have the urge to ask, to challenge, to question his decisions. All he’s done since finding me is protect me. Apart from that one strange incident where he sniffed my underwear—which, in retrospect, was probably just him trying to understand what I was—he’s been nothing but…good to me.

My fingers curl gently around the edge of his shoulder, careful to avoid the worst of his injuries. I hate that he’s bleeding and still carrying me, but somehow I know with absolute certainty that he won’t put me down. Won’t let me walk beside him. It’s there in the set of his shoulders, in the way his arms tighten almost imperceptibly whenever I shift my weight.

For whatever reason, carrying me is important to him. So I let him, even though it goes against every independent bone in my body.

We walk for what feels like hours. The sun climbs higher, its heat bearing down with an intensity that seems to press the very air from my lungs. I hadn’t realized just how much protection the emergency blanket had offered. How much it had shielded me from the worst of the sun’s wrath. Now, without it, the rays beat against my skin like a dom with a whip, drawing the moisture from my body, the strength from my limbs.

And I’m not even the one doing the walking.

“You need to rest,” I murmur, knowing he won’t understand but needing to say it anyway. “You’re losing too much blood.”

He doesn’t respond, of course. Just keeps moving forward, his gaze fixed on the horizon, his breathing becoming more labored with each passing step.

Despite my exhaustion, I force myself to remain vigilant, scanning our surroundings for any signs of those shadow creatures. The memory of them is too fresh, too terrifying to allow even a moment of complacency. And there are other dangers here too—like whatever made that tunnel I fell into. This planet has things. Hidden things. Waiting things.

I wonder briefly if Jacqui and the others are facing similar horrors, or if they’ve somehow managed to avoid the worst of what this alien desert has to offer. I hope they’re okay. I hope they’re doing better than we are.

After what feels like an eternity, a dark shape appears on the horizon. As we draw closer, it solidifies into a rock formation—not the one I’d been aiming for when I first set out from that bus, and something that must be my heart drops. I push away the feeling, eyes cast on the formation ahead. It’s a flat, mesa-like structure rising from the endless sand, its surface weathered and pitted by whatever passes for erosion on this planet.

Rok’s pace changes slightly, becoming more determined, more focused, and I realize this must be our destination. This must be where he’s been struggling to reach all this time.

For a moment, hope flares in my chest. Maybe this is where his people are. Maybe he’s been taking me to his tribe, his family, others who can help him, heal him and also help me, Jacqui, all the others. My heart skips a beat. The thought of more beings like Rok is both thrilling and terrifying, but right now, I’d welcome any help we can get.

As we draw closer, though, I see it’s not a settlement or village. Just a cave entrance, dark and forbidding against the brown stone.

My hope flickers but doesn’t die. Maybe his people live inside, hidden from the sun’s relentless glare. Maybe there’s a whole community in there, just out of sight.

But a nagging doubt whispers otherwise. What if he is alone? But…he can’t be. Where did he come from then? How has he survived out here, in this harsh, unforgiving landscape?

Rok carries me to the cave entrance, his steps becoming more unsteady the closer we get. By the time we cross the threshold, stepping from blinding sunlight into cool shadow, he’s trembling with exertion, his breathing ragged and shallow.

The entrance reveals nothing but sand and stone, no signs of habitation, no indications that anything has ever lived here. My heart sinks further. But Rok continues deeper, past a curve in the rock wall that hides whatever lies beyond from immediate view.

And then the world opens up.

The narrow passage widens suddenly into a chamber that takes my breath away. It’s enormous, far larger than it appeared possible from outside, with walls that curve upward to form a dome. Directly above, a circular opening in the rock reveals a perfect circle of yellow sky, letting in just enough light to illuminate the space without the harshness of direct sun.

And there’s foliage. Sparse, but foliage nonetheless in tiny patches scattered across the otherwise barren floor. Small plants, nothing like the lush vegetation of Earth, but vegetation nonetheless—spiky, resilient-looking things with thick leaves and stems that seem designed to conserve every drop of moisture.

There’s no visible water source, at least none that I can see, but the air feels different in here. Cooler, yes, but also somehow…damper. As if the very rock exhales moisture into the chamber.

The relief of being out of the sun, in this small oasis of relative comfort, is so intense it makes me dizzy. Or maybe that’s the exhaustion, the dehydration, the emotional toll of everything that’s happened in the past twenty-four hours.

Rok’s arms relax, and for a moment I think he’s going to keep holding me, but then he carefully, gently, sets me on my feet. His hands linger at my waist, steadying me, making sure I’m stable before he lets go completely.

I turn to thank him, words finally forming on my lips, but they never make it out. Because the moment his hands leave my waist, Rok crumples to the ground.

“No!” I drop to my knees beside him, hands hovering over his body, afraid to touch him, afraid to make his injuries worse. “Rok? ROK!”

His eyes are closed, his breathing shallow and rapid. And there is no glow beneath his skin. I’ve come to think of it as normal, that the fact it’s not there has anxiety spiking within me.

“No.” I finally reach out to touch his face. “Don’t you dare die on me. Not after all this. Not after everything.”

He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t move. Just lies there, each breath a visible struggle.

Panic rises in my throat, threatening to choke me, but I force it down. Panic won’t help him. Nothing will help him if I can’t figure out what to do.

I look up, gaze flicking around the chamber, searching for something—anything—that might help. There’s…nothing. Plants, yes, but I’m no herbalist. All that’s here is, well, me…my handbag.

With trembling hands, I dump its contents out again, eyes shifting over my cell phone, the emergency biscuits, the crumpled dollar bills, my water sachet, and the sanitary napkin.

I stare at the pad for a long moment. It’s not much, but it’s the only absorbent material I have. And Rok is still bleeding.

“Better than nothing,” I mutter, tearing open the plastic wrapper.

My breaths come hard and fast as I work, my gaze shifting to Rok every few seconds. He’s still lying there, unmoving, only his chest rising and falling with pressured breaths.

“Come on, Justine. Come on.”

Swallowing hard, I peel back the adhesive strips and separate the pad into its layers, exposing the ultra-absorbent core. It’s not sterile, not by a long shot, but it’s the best I can do.

I shift closer to Rok, getting a better look at his wounds in the soft, diffused light of the cave. What I see gives me a small measure of hope—the smaller cuts and gashes have already started clotting, the bleeding slowing to a trickle. His physiology must be different from humans, his blood clotting faster, his healing more efficient.

But the deeper wounds—particularly a nasty gash across his ribs and another on his upper arm—are still oozing that strange, dark, shimmering blood.

I tear the absorbent pad into strips and press the first one against the worst of the wounds, watching his face for a reaction.