Rory's fingers snapped shut around Dax's wrist the moment he shifted forward. Her grip was firm, instinctive.
"Let the others handle it," she said, her voice tight with urgency.
Dax turned back to her, dark eyes steady and unflinching. He shook his head once, slow and deliberate.
"Trust me, Female Master," he replied quietly. "I'm not dying that easily."
The fear in her eyes struck him harder than any beast ever could. It twisted something deep in his chest. He wanted to leave the cave—no, he needed to. The urge to charge headfirst into the chaos, to tear into that level-eight monster like it owed him blood and interest, burned through his veins.
Before Rory could tighten her hold, he slipped free.
One pivot. One step.
Then he was gone—nothing more than a blur at the cave's mouth before vanishing into the storm of roars and shaking earth outside. The speed was so terrifyingly fast that Rory barely registered his departure.
A sharp ding sliced through the tense silence.
