The air was still thick with dust, every breath leaving a dry sting in Ilyrana's throat as she hovered over the edge of the gaping hole. The silence below was unnerving—a hollow reminder of how long it had been since Luke had fallen. She had called for him at least a dozen times, voice echoing into the dark, unanswered.
Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the ledge, peering into the abyss.
"Come on, Luke… say something," she whispered, her tone brittle with worry.
The drop was steep, its inner walls jagged but smooth enough that no natural foothold could be trusted. Climbing down by hand was impossible; one wrong move, and she'd meet the same fate as him.
