“Personally I would prioritize possession of a weak-willed sub-adult with fire hands,” Richard contributes to the conversation, helpfully. He pushes his goggles up onto his brow -- the better to meet Matthias’ scrutiny head on in the gloom. Further seeking his input on the matter.

They’re walking. Loxley is distracted.

Well ahead, a ripple of sickly green light diffracts through water and ice to wash thin over the cave floor. A scream echoes around the bend, singing in rounds with itself down the shaft towards them and then past, in doppler-shifting stereo.

Richard stops, momentum dropped like an anchor at the back of the line.

“What’s the plan?” he wants to know, suddenly. “Is there one?”