The darkness under the ice was absolute. It wasn't just the absence of light; it was a physical weight. It pressed against the eyes, trying to force them shut. The only sound was the drip of water from the ceiling and the soft splash of paddles cutting through the black water. Slap. Hiss. Slap. Hiss.
Ezra stood at the bow of the lead raft. He held the rifle across his chest. The metal was cold enough to burn his skin through his gloves. He didn't feel it. He was focused on the ceiling. The ice shelf above them was thick. Maybe twenty feet. Maybe more. It glowed faintly where the magma river's heat touched it from below. Blue veins ran through the white ice. Cracks. Weak points.
Behind him, fifty rafts drifted in a loose line. Mara was on the second raft, beside Ash. She hadn't spoken in
