I am once again grateful for Sol insisting that I bring a change of clothes. Luke kindly gives me privacy by starting a fire in the fireplace while I strip out of my soggy shirt and shorts and don a warm, dry sweater and pants. Luckily, there was some dry firewood already stocked in the little cabin part. Whoever used this cabin last seemed to have kept it up before they left.

"We should spend the night here. I don't want to chance the slick mountainside until the rain stops," Luke says as he stokes the fire. I crouch next to him to lay my wet clothes out to dry in front of the fireplace.

We stand and I watch as Luke does the same, carefully laying his soaked shirt out beside mine.

Shifting, he looks at me with cautious eyes.

"What? What's wrong?" I ask, stepping toward him.

A shy smile quirks up the side of his lips. "Nothing." He slips his hands into his pockets. "Just... that cavern goes quite far back. Sometimes we find relics of the Old World." The way he shrugs is almost cute. "I was wondering if you wanted to explore it? With me?"

A grin spreads across my face. I honestly would love nothing more than to go spelunking with Luke.

"Absolutely." There's a small nagging worry on the back of my mind, but I trust Luke. Whatever else we could possibly find in there, I know Luke will keep us safe from it.

I marvel at this as we approach the cave entrance, passing through the small doorway. Before I came to the Outlands, my adventurous days were thought to be long gone.

Now, I barely hesitate at the thought of entering unknown territory. I glance up at Luke, whose back is to me, and something in my chest shifts into place.

This, I think. This is what it feels like to really live. To let go of inhibitions and thoughts that hold back experiencing anything, everything.

And I kind of like this new me, this brave me. For once in my life I don't feel shadowed by my friends, my family, nor the world that has confined me.

I feel like I am becoming who I am meant to be. The fear I've lived in—if you could call it living—would still be holding me back had I never come into the Outlands. I glance at Luke and decide that his strong, steady presence is comforting, especially in all of the foreign feelings I've experienced in the past week.

Fear tricks us into living a cautionary life. It tricked me into accepting that there was nothing of value outside Herald's walls. It tricked the people of Natio into a fearful lifestyle, restricted by the threat of the Skinwalkers.

That fear continues to shape the world into a lesser version of what it could be; perhaps, one where Herald coexists with the Outlands.

Luke has taken up a torch with a burning piece of wood from the fireplace to light the way. Shadows dance as we pick our way along the walls.

"I thought I saw something earlier," Luke says, and I jump, instantly plastering myself behind him. He chuckles. "Nothing alive. Just some markings along the walls."

Sure enough, Luke brings the torch toward a streak of what looks like paint splashed across the rock in a picture of some sort. As he pans, the light reveals dozens of streaks in various colors. A mural? I look closely at the misty-looking paint flaking in some places.

Suddenly, I step back, looking at the series of lines crossing and weaving only to realize that the ancient markings do not make a picture.

They are words.

The once-vibrant colored graffiti covers nearly half of the cave wall at eye-level. Some sections are wispy and others blocky, but all of it just blares. It is brassy. Angsty. Insurgent.

Being surrounded by remnants of a lost people is almost overwhelming. These leftover words, thoughts, feelings, could be hundreds of years old, and it is staggering as it is fascinating.

I have trouble making out most of what the words spell, but one phrase stands out more than the others.

"PLAN B IS DYING."

The words set a sour stone in my stomach and my heart aches for the artist. What was their situation? Why was someone hundreds of years ago so hopeless? What parts of history weren't we taught?

Then, I wonder if any of Luke's people ever feel that way. The only option is to survive. There is no plan B. Their struggle is real. Their lives literally depend on their ability to prepare for and outsmart the Skinwalkers.

In Herald, we are safe from majority of predators. For anyone in the Outlands, the concept of perfect safety is a myth. How do the people of Natio live? The mere fact that they persist regardless is incredible. Surely half of Heraldites would not know how to manage such constant fear and survive.

Could this be why the Council keeps the Skinwalkers a secret?

As we walk through the cavern, there are so many questions bouncing around in my head. What else is there to know about Skinwalkers? Luke has protected me so far, but I want to know more about these predators. Maybe there really is a way to counteract them.

"So if the Skinwalkers move in hordes, where do they sleep? Do they even sleep?" I can't picture a community of them having houses like villagers.

"As far as we know, they usually sleep in the trees, mostly during the sunlight hours. It's not like we get close enough to watch them all day," Luke answers. "They can hear from miles away, and if you're close enough, their nose will find you." I breathe. They really are the farthest thing from being human as I had originally thought.

The room where the Skinwalker emerged from is so large, that the light from Luke's torch barely reaches the back. It is only as we delve deeper into it that we see the very back wall of the cave clearly.

But it doesn't end there. I would have missed it if it weren't for Luke. At the very back, next to the words CATASTROPHE BY DESIGN is a corridor of rock sloping downward into darkness. We descend, and Luke advises me to watch my step as there is rubble littering the floor. I pick my feet up over the scattered detritus of all shapes and sizes. Some particles are weathered away to the tiniest of gray pebbles, whilst others are boulder-sized and rough.

"How many of them are out there? Surely there are more of us than them, right?" I don't know how they expect to eradicate them otherwise.

Luke shrugs. "No one really knows. Some seasons are worse than others." He pauses to think for a moment before continuing somberly. "With the amount of wildlife decreasing, I fear it is getting ahead of us."

Seeing Luke this troubled makes me worry all the more. He truly is concerned for the welfare of his people, and I mentally vow to help him and his charge, even if I have to do so in Perseca.

"Don't they have any weaknesses?" I query, determined to help Luke find a way.

He lunges off a particularly large boulder and helps me down gently. "Same as any living thing. Injury, starvation, fire." He sighs. "It's not like we can set the entire forest on fire."

His words trigger a flashback to Herald history classes. When the wall was being built, the surrounding woods were constantly ablaze—presumably, to keep the Outlanders out. I cannot help but wonder if the founders were actually setting the trees on fire to keep the Skinwalkers at bay.

I feel a pang of annoyance, frustrated with the lack of reasoning. Why does the Council disguise who the real enemy is?

The rock walls surrounding us begin to get smaller and smaller, to where we can no longer walk side-by-side. The temperature drops cooler with every step, and I could really do without the damp hair stuck to the back of my neck. Filing behind him, I take in his silhouette. The torch is still burning bright, but his tall stature shadows me. All I can see besides the darkness of his back is the fire glinting off the tops of this shoulders, and the gold veining his hair.

Luke comes to a stop and turns. Carefully, he takes my arm and guides me over fragile, crumbling debris. His hand slips down to mine, and my breath hitches. One would think I'd be used to his touch by now. I try to ignore my heart racing at the intimacy and wonder if he could possibly feel the electricity between us too.

When we make it on the other side of the rubble, I take in a breath.

I stand in awe of the great chamber before me. There are countless pillars of sweating rock towering across the floor. Tall walls of limestone climb straight up to a ceiling adorned with stalactites. It's so high, that the torchlight barely reaches it.

"Do you see this? Do many people know this is here?" I ask in wonder. My voice echoes in the chamber, bouncing off the many faceted surfaces.

"I have never been to such a place," Luke says, stepping deeper inside. Our footsteps are accompanied only by the steady dripping of moisture from the ceiling to the floor. If you look at it a certain way, the mineral deposits could be the jaw of a Skinwalker and its mouthful of sharp teeth. The light reflecting and shadows flitting are a spectacular sight. When was the last time this place saw the light of day? If ever? There are no signs of any growing, living thing. Not even bats occupy this space.

Luke walks up to a column as wide as a tree trunk and places his hand on it. His palm comes away glistening with moisture. He looks at me and raises his eyebrows, turning his lips down in a grimace. I giggle and when he goes to playfully wipe his hand on me, I leap away with the biggest smile on my face.

For the next while, we explore the cavern and its features, marveling at how something so incredible was created, and how special it is to be one of few to experience its magnificence.

"I don't think there are any other entrances," Luke claims, running a finger across one of the stalagmites. He seems so enthralled in this awesome space. There is such a child-like curiosity about him, and I can't help but smile.

He glances at me and slips his free hand in his pocket. "You ready to head back?"

I'm not, but I don't want to keep Luke waiting. We ascend and leave the spectacular cavern behind us. When we arrive back in the little kitchen, our belongings before the fireplace are nearly dry.

My heart pangs. I was just getting used to a shirtless Luke.