Swift awoke to the sound of silence.

  Uncomfortable silence—a warning, the world holding its breath before erupting. He lay still for a moment in the dim glow of his lantern, letting his thoughts settle.

  If the spiders are territorial, they may come after him the moment he steps back in.

  He sat up, loosening the straps of his backpack and rolling his shoulders to relieve the stiffness from sleep. His eyes flicked to the semi-sealed spider nest entrance.

  If I need to retreat, the entrance needs to be plugged. Fast.

  Swift got to work.

  He wedged a stack of crates near the entrance and wired them together with cut webbing. Then he buried a few narrow stones behind them, wedging the makeshift structure so a hard kick could collapse the whole setup. Not exactly an engineering marvel, but it would drop enough debris to slow anything chasing him.

  Satisfied, he turned and approached the web-sealed breach he’d opened the day before.

  Except it wasn’t open anymore.

  The spiders had rebuilt the wall.

  Completely.

  “Impressive,” Swift muttered, inspecting the tight layers of web. “Efficient little bastards.”

  Also annoying.

  He sighed and used Excalibur’s bayonet for slicing again, slower this time—clean, long strokes, trying to make as little noise as possible. The webbing cut smoother than yesterday, like the spiders had woven it tighter.

  He worked quickly, stuffing each new sheet into his backpack. It dug into his shoulders without full padding, but it worked.

  As he stuffed the final section in and turned to adjust his pack—

  He froze.

  A spider was charging him.

  Its glossy black legs scraped over the stone, but the moment Swift lifted his weapon into a ready stance, the spider skidded to a halt—legs twitching, mandibles chittering. It held still for a long, tense moment, staring with unblinking, glimmering eyes.

  “Hisss.”

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  There wasn’t rage, but caution—and the spider retreated. Not backward, but up. It skittered up the wall and disappeared through the opening in the ceiling, slipping out toward the surface.

  They go out at night, Swift realized, watching the last shimmer of its body vanish into the stone.

  He exhaled.

  Lucky. Very lucky.

  With the web wall gone again, Swift peered into the chamber beyond. The cavern still breathed with heat and the slow drip of condensation. But now, it was empty. Vacant. No movement. No skittering.

  He glanced up at the great tangle of webs high above.

  Still out of reach.

  If they keep rebuilding the wall, I could just harvest it over and over. But if they stop…

  The risk of returning with not enough silk was greater than the risk of pushing forward now.

  Decision made, Swift entered the cavern again.

  He moved with practiced steps, eyes up, down, and side to side. Excalibur’s weight was steady in his hands, bayonet gleaming in the faint red glow. The stench of decay was stronger now. The further in he walked, the more carcasses he saw—birds, rodents, even a massive mountain goat wrapped tightly in silver silk.

  Some of them were dry and brittle, already drained of fluids. Others looked fresher.

  Swift began carefully slicing the silk from them, collecting long threads and sheets without disturbing the deeper parts of the web network. Some threads were almost golden under the lantern light, flexible and shimmering. The backpack began to swell with weight.

  This is more than enough. Enough to make the gear. Enough to remake it if the prototypes fail. Maybe even some for Lee to experiment with.

  Satisfied, Swift turned back toward the shaft.

  Then, something moved.

  Top of his vision. A shadow.

  Just the faintest twitch.

  A spider, rappelling silently from the ceiling.

  Swift’s reaction was pure instinct.

  He spun and slammed Excalibur’s stock like a bat, catching it mid-drop

  Crack.

  The spider went flying, legs curling in as it slammed into the cavern wall and vanished behind a ridge.

  He heard the nightmare.

  Clicking.

  Chittering.

  Dozens of legs skittering across stone.

  Then hundreds.

  A soft rain of patters, like hail, from above.

  Swift looked up and saw the ceiling moving.

  Spiders.

  Too many spiders.

  His eyes widened.

  “Nope.”

  One dropped in front of him.

  He skewered it.

  Another crawled across the wall to his left.

  He smashed it.

  “Nope.”

  They poured from every crevice—along the walls, the ceiling, even the floor.

  A big one landed with a thud.

  He sidestepped and bayoneted it through the abdomen.

  “Nope!”

  He was running now—cutting, slamming, shooting once, deafened by the blast but forcing a path through.

  “Nope nope nope—!”

  Another spider lunged from a side wall. He shoulder-checked it, sending it tumbling.

  He could see the breach—almost there.

  More spiders dropped in front of him.

  He leapt over them, swinging the butt of Excalibur like a club.

  Slide.

  He dropped into a low slide like he was stealing second base, skidding through the narrow entrance and slamming into his makeshift crate plug.

  Without pausing, he twisted and kicked.

  The crates collapsed inward, stone and debris toppling into the breach just as the first spider reached it.

  The collapse shook the shaft, dust lifting and falling from the debris. Swift shuffled back, coughing but alive.

  Silence followed.

  Not peace. But silence.

  He stared at the collapsed wall for a long minute, chest heaving, arms trembling slightly with adrenaline.

  Then, finally, he muttered to himself, voice dry:

  “…That’s enough silk.”

  The debris shifted.