My Brob GF Ch 38: Discovery Of What Lies Below!

(Ethan) Climbing Harper's leg was starting to feel less like a mission and more like surviving the world's worst boot camp — inside a furnac

(Ethan)

Climbing Harper's leg was starting to feel less like a mission and more like surviving the world's worst boot camp — inside a furnace. My arms burned. My legs were jelly. Every grip I found on her skin was slick with sweat or shifting under me as her muscles flexed with every subtle movement she made.

"Just... a little further," I muttered, trying not to look down. Not that it mattered — I couldn't see much through the humid haze rising from her skin, like some tropical steam room. I wasn't climbing a leg anymore, I was scaling a living mountain during an earthquake.

Every ridge and groove of her skin became a step, and I had to jam my foot into tiny creases, fingers curling around fine hairs like lifelines. The worst part? The sweat. I don't know how it worked on her scale, but a single drop was like a sticky wall that clung to my body, threatening to suction me flat to her skin like a bug on flypaper. I had to squirm and peel myself off just to keep moving — and avoid the next drop hovering above like a translucent wrecking ball.

One step at a time. One breath at a time.

The black ceiling of her sweatpants hung above, occasionally dipping low, threatening to flatten me with a single shift. The fabric was thin, but when it sagged under its own weight, it came down like a collapsing tarp. I couldn't shake the feeling that Harper felt something. The way her leg tensed. The sudden pauses. Could she feel me? Was I tickling her nerves just enough to make her pause? That was bad. That was real bad.

A tremor rolled through her muscle, and I grabbed one of the thicker hairs with both hands, holding on for dear life as my feet left the ground. "Okay, okay, that's enough moving! Stay still, mountain lady!" I shouted. Not that she could hear me — or would even think my voice was anything more than a passing breeze.

I climbed a few more steps, braving another pulse of heat that stuck my shirt to my skin. The humidity was rising, and fast. My lungs felt like they were pulling in molasses. Was this what it felt like inside a pressure cooker?

I pulled myself up onto a flatter plateau — or what passed for one — and that's when I saw it: white fabric ahead. Cotton, I guessed, maybe part of her sock or the liner of her workout pants. Whatever it was, it meant I was getting closer to a safer zone — relatively speaking. But it also meant one thing...

The air was getting thicker. The heat more intense.

I doubled over, catching my breath, wiping my face with a shaking hand. My eyes stung with salt. "God, Harper, what are you doing? Squats in a sauna?" I wheezed. Around me, the hairs were growing thicker, darker, and I realized I was entering a more sensitive area of skin — closer to the inner thigh maybe? I didn't want to think about it too hard.

I grabbed onto a thin black hair, one of the smallest I could find — and regretted it instantly.

The whole area shivered like a drumhead struck by a mallet. The shockwave sent me sliding down a few inches, my knees scraping over tiny skin ridges. "Damn this Brob is sensitive," I grunted, arms trembling as I held on.

Then, suddenly — light.

It burst in from above like someone had opened a sunroof. A gust of cooler air swept in, stirring the sweat-laced air, and I knew something big was shifting. I squinted upward, heart thudding, wondering if I was about to get knocked into the abyss again or if this was my chance to move up.

Either way, I had to keep climbing.

Because if I didn't, I knew I'd end up squashed, soaked, or stuck somewhere way worse than the inside of her shoe. And Harper? She'd never even know.

***

(Harper)

I burst into the gym's bathroom like a woman on a mission, slamming the door behind me and nearly skidding on the tile. My heart was pounding, half from the workout, half from the damn news report we just saw. I had to get home, get to Ethan. Something was happening, and every fiber of me knew it wasn't random. Ten dead Lillis. Five Brobs. No signs of trauma. That was Silvershade's style. Quiet. Precise. Horrifying.

But I couldn't even focus — because of the itch.

"God, seriously?" I muttered, squirming. It was driving me nuts. It wasn't the kind of itch you could just ignore either — it was that sharp, persistent tickle that made you feel like something was crawling on you. Which was dumb. I mean, I was in the gym, yeah, and I was sweating, sure, but I'd worn these underwear a dozen times and never had this problem.

I stepped into a stall, locked the door, and fumbled with the waistband of my pants. "Probably the detergent," I told myself. "Or maybe Darcy accidentally got that menthol muscle cream on my clothes again."

But when I pulled the waistband down just enough to peek inside — I saw nothing. Just the edge of my underwear, a little damp from sweat, sure, but otherwise fine. Still, the tickle didn't stop.

"Okay. Nope. I'm checking," I muttered, yanking my pants down all the way, standing in front of the mirror like a weirdo in a panic. I twisted at the hip and leaned closer, trying to see the spot that had been bothering me. And that's when I saw it.

Something. Tiny. Dangling from one of the fine hairs on my skin. Barely visible — smaller than a grain of rice.

"What is that?" I blinked, leaning closer. It wasn't fuzz. It wasn't lint. It was... moving.

My eyes widened. "Oh my god."

I leaned closer to the mirror, heart jumping into my throat.

That wasn't a crumb.

It was a person.