The wind bit harder the farther they walked.

Sparse tundra stretched around them like an endless, pale sea, dotted with stunted shrubs and icy puddles, the occasional shimmer of half-frozen water breaking the otherwise dull landscape. It wasn't snowing, but the chill hung thick in the air, soaking through clothes and skin, as if the cold came from within the ground itself.

Bell pulled her hoodie tighter around her face, lips trembling. "I know I've said this before," she muttered to Kai, "but I'm really cold."

Kai gave a half-hearted chuckle. "Yeah. Same. I can't feel my nose anymore. Or my ears. Or my knees…"

They had both layered up as best they could—Zane and Tarni had even given them the thickest of their jackets. Zane had also cut up a spare pair of his pants that were in the Bag of Holding, using them as scarves over their heads like makeshift balaclavas. But it didn't seem to help. Not enough, anyway.

Up ahead, Zane walked with his machete resting on his shoulder, his breath barely fogging the air. He was talking to Tarni, who moved through the frozen terrain with casual ease. Tarni even had her jacket unzipped. Unzipped. Lily was keeping watch behind them. Looking only a little cold.

Kai stared at them, slack-jawed beneath his scarf.

"Are they... not cold?" he whispered to Bell.

"I was just wondering the same thing," she replied through chattering teeth.

They kept moving, trudging in the middle of the group, staying close together for whatever warmth that offered. As they passed a low ridge, they spotted a small herd of caribou in the distance. Their thick fur coats shimmered in the flat sunlight, and their antlers twitched warily at the intruders. A moment later, a white blur darted past—a snow fox, barely visible against the tundra. A few arctic hares scattered ahead of them like tossed pebbles, disappearing into frostbitten underbrush.

Bell pointed toward the animals. "That's the third group we've seen. You think the dungeon just… has normal wildlife now?"

Kai shrugged, his fingers stiff inside his gloves. "Dunno. Nothing's attacked us yet. Maybe this is like… a buffer zone? Or a test?"

They fell into silence again until Kai finally said, "You know what? It has to be Constitution."

Bell gave him a look.

"The cold," he clarified. "Dad's not even pretending to feel it. Tarni and Lily look fine. And we're freezing."

She considered it. "Zane's Constitution was what, nineteen?"

"Yeah. Mine's twelve. What's yours again?"

"Thirteen," she said through chattering teeth. "I think we just found the line between 'uncomfortable' and 'this sucks.'"

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Kai chuckled, even as he hugged himself tighter.

Bell cast a glance toward her husband. "It makes sense. Zane's always had that 'never gets sick, never gets cold' thing going. Even back in winter camping trips, he'd be in a leather vest we got on the first level, while I'm shivering in five layers."

Kai nodded. "Lily's fifteen, Tarni's fourteen, right? Maybe anything above thirteen means you can tough it out."

"Which means we're on the wrong side of the line."

"Yup."

Kai squinted at the others ahead. "Think we should say something?"

Bell shook her head. "Nah. Not yet. Let's keep moving. We'll warm up eventually."

he didn't argue, but his hands tightened around his spear. His joints ached. His face was numb. This floor of the dungeon did not seem to be about monsters or combat—it was about endurance.

A quiet challenge. One that didn't come with flashing warnings or a red health bar.

But it was just as dangerous.

The truck rumbled along the narrow country road, trees flanking either side like tall, silent sentinels. The ride from town to the Riders' property had started quiet, save for the occasional comment about the weather or potholes. But after a quick chat with Dave and a round of banter to break the ice, Sergeant Barry Smith had slipped into a more focused mindset.

In the passenger seat, he clipped a small button cam to his chest and double-checked the battery pack tucked discreetly into his shirt. A wire ran from his collar down to the mic clipped near his sternum. The whole setup felt amateur and barely adequate, but desperate times called for creative solutions.

He powered the camera on, adjusted the angle, and gave it a test tap.

Then, holding his mobile in one hand, he hit record.

"Sergeant Barry Smith—off duty," he said plainly into the lens. "I'm currently en route with a civilian to the Rider property for a welfare and safety check… unofficially. If you're watching this, it means I haven't returned. Hopefully, this all turns out to be nothing and I just delete this video when I get home. But just in case—this is who I am, where I was going, and why."

He ended the recording, attached the file to an email, and sent it to himself.

If everything went smoothly, it'd just be one more paranoid note in his digital trash bin.

If it didn't… well, someone at the station would find it.

Beside him, Dave stole a glance away from the road and looked at Barry—no, Bazza, he reminded himself. He had to keep things casual. Plausible deniability.

"What are you doing, mate?" Dave asked, trying to keep his tone light.

Barry finished tapping the screen and set his phone down in his lap. "Backup plan. If this goes sideways, I want someone to know where to start looking."

Dave's hands clenched the steering wheel. The rig gave a noticeable swerve as the truck's wheels kissed the gravel shoulder. He quickly corrected, eyes wide.

"Bloody hell, Bazza! Don't say that while I'm driving!"

Barry raised an eyebrow, mildly amused by the overreaction. "Better to plan ahead than panic later."

Dave stared forward for a moment, heart still thumping from the adrenaline spike. Then, voice a little quieter, he said, "You really think it could go that bad?"

Barry didn't answer right away. He looked out the window at the thinning trees, the long dirt road ahead, and the cloudy sky that seemed to lean lower the closer they got to the property.

"I don't think it's gonna go bad," Barry said finally. "But it makes me feel better having done it."

Dave nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat.

After a beat, Barry leaned back toward him. "You want to make one too? A video."

Dave blinked. "What, like a... goodbye message?"

"More like a just-in-case message. Doesn't hurt to have a record."

Dave thought about it. About how strange Zane Rider had been. About how his calls and emails had gone unanswered. About the fact that Sergeant Barry Smith—sorry, Bazza—had to come along undercover because no one official wanted to go near the place.

After a long moment, he pulled the truck over onto the shoulder of the road, reached for his phone and handed it to Barry.

"Yeah," he said. "Let's do one."

Barry nodded and held the phone up.

"Alright then,"

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