All Chapters of The Mate I Never Chose: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

The silence that followed the surge was heavier than the stone ceiling above them. It was a suffocating, absolute quiet, broken only by the ragged, synchronized gasps of two men collapsed in the mud."Rangga?" Arung’s voice sounded like gravel grinding in a shallow grave. He didn't move; he couldn't. His hands were still pressed against Rangga’s chest, his fingers dug deep into the damp fabric of Rangga’s ruined shirt.Rangga wheezed, his lungs burning with the sharp, metallic taste of ozone. He tried to lift his head, but his neck felt as heavy as lead. "I’m… I’m here. Is it over?""The earth stopped screaming," Arung managed. He exhaled a long, shuddering breath, his forehead dropping until it rested against Rangga’s collarbone. "That’s a start."Rangga shifted, the movement sending a jolt of phantom pain down his spine. He looked down. The amber runes that had been burning like open wounds against his abdomen were dimming. They weren't gone, but the furious, molten light had recede

"Helicopters," Rangga whispered, the word tasting like bile. He slumped against a moss-covered pillar, the wood slick and rotting beneath his palms. "They’re not giving up, are they? Even after all that?"Arung didn't look at the sky. He was busy checking the magazine of his sidearm, his movements efficient despite the tremor in his fingers. He ejected the clip, checked the remaining rounds, and slammed it back in with a sharp, final click. "They don't care about the mountain, Rangga. They care about the recovery of their assets. That drill, the data, the 'anchor points'—they’re worth millions to the people sitting in climate-controlled offices in Jakarta. They won’t stop until they’ve scoured every inch of this valley.""Then we’re still targets," Rangga said, his chest hitching. The silver scars on his skin, relics of the monolith's touch, pulsed faintly in sync with his heartbeat. "How far can we run before we hit a dead end?"Arung stood, his legs swaying slightly before he locked

"Easy," Arung repeated, his hand remaining pressed firmly against the small of Rangga’s back. The touch was grounding, a physical anchor that tethered Rangga to the present moment, dragging him away from the phantom sensations of collapsing tunnels and the crushing weight of the monolith. "It’s just a shift in the tectonic plates, Rangga. It’s the mountain settling, not attacking. Breathe."Rangga exhaled a long, shuddering breath. He looked down at his own hands, now steadied. The bioluminescent glow of the silver scars had faded back to the faint, jagged markings that had become a permanent part of his skin. "Old habits," he muttered, though the irony of calling a weeks-old trauma an 'old habit' wasn't lost on him. He turned his head to look at Arung, who was sitting on the floor of the porch, his back against the cabin wall. Arung’s face, usually set in lines of sharp, tactical precision, had softened—at least, as much as it ever could. "Do you think it ever stops? The feeling that

"Easy with that," Arung snapped, snatching the filtration pump from Rangga’s grip before he could toss it onto the pile. "That’s the only thing keeping our blood from turning to sludge. Treat it like a loaded weapon."Rangga exhaled sharply, his patience fraying at the edges. "I’m tired, Arung. I’m tired of counting bullets, tired of checking seals, and tired of hearing you talk like we’re soldiers in a trench. We’re fugitives in a cave system that thinks it’s a living organ."Arung didn't blink. He slid a half-empty magazine into his vest and stood, his height casting a long, jagged shadow against the limestone walls of their makeshift shelter. "Fugitives don't survive long enough to complain, Rangga. They get caught, questioned, and erased. You want to live through the week? Then act like the mountain is trying to kill you, because it is. You just don't know the method yet."Before Rangga could retort, a sound echoed from the treeline—a sharp, staccato snap of a dry branch, followed

"They’re not just mapping," Arung whispered, his voice a serrated blade in the darkness. "They’re triangulating. Every time your skin lights up like a neon sign, they’re getting a clearer lock on our position. Move. Now.""I can't just turn it off, Arung!" Rangga hissed, scrambling to his feet as the roar of the rotors intensified, vibrating the very marrow of his bones. "It’s not a switch!""Then cover it with mud, blood, or cave sludge—I don't care. Just hide the glow." Arung didn't look back. He was already moving toward the back of the chamber, his hand signaling a tight, urgent directive for Rangga to follow.They scrambled deeper into the damp, sulfurous vents, the air growing heavy with the stench of rotten eggs and raw heat. The drones were closer now, their electronic whining harmonizing with the natural geological hum, a sound so discordant it made Rangga’s eyes water."They’ve landed," Arung whispered, stopping abruptly against a vein of jagged basalt. He pulled a pair of b