Then I start moving.
My fingers feel for grips. My feet search for secure footholds. The reddish rock is icy, unforgiving, and sharp in places, but I’m not thinking about the cold. I have one very powerful reason to reach the top as fast as possible: Neela.
My muscles burn. The two fractured ribs in my side scream with every stretch and pull, but I keep climbing. Every movement is calculated, every shift in weight intentional, as I focus entirely on the next protruding edge I can latch onto.
The wind whistles past my ears. I can feel the sun’s warmth fading quickly behind me, shadows growing longer across the wall. But I can’t afford to be distracted. I have to stay alert.
Several times, my fingers nearly slip from a slick patch of stone, but my claws help me dig in and hold. My heart is pounding. My legs tremble. My breath comes in ragged gasps—still rattled from the fall—but I push forward.
Neela would probably lecture me right now about how reckless it is to free climb with fractured ribs. And she’d be right.
But I don’t care.
Let the injuries get worse. Let the pain shred through me. I’m alive—for now—and that failed attempt to kill me isn’t the first I’ve survived.
Right now, none of that matters.
What matters is this cliff.
And getting to the top.
Almost three hours later, I reach the top.
Too late.
The vehicle is gone, and all that’s left of Neela’s scent—and those bastards’—is a faint trace on the wind.
Hans is still here, unconscious, lying where I last saw him.
I can’t help Neela right now. But I can helphim.
I kneel beside him and check him over. He’s alive. Just unconscious. With a lump on his head that looks like a secondskull trying to hatch. I’m no Human doctor, but I’m guessing being out cold for three hours isn’t ideal.
I stand and listen. It’s getting dark. The traitors are gone, and the house is empty. Good. We’ll use it as shelter tonight.
I spot the waterproof pack that must’ve been tossed out of the vehicle. Idiots didn’t even check what was inside. I sling it onto my back, grit my teeth through the pain, and scoop Hans into my arms. My ribs scream, but I ignore them.
His skin is cold and loose. I’ve never touched him before, so I don’t know if that’s age or injury. I lay him on a cot and throw a blanket over him. Then I make him something warm to drink. He wakes up after a few sips.
“Enough! You trying to kill me, boy?” he croaks.
“You’ve been unconscious for nearly three hours,” I tell him.
“Ugh. Must’ve gotten a concussion. That dumbass Constantin really clocked me.”
Good. If he’s cursing, he’s improving.
But his blackout means I’ve got no info on Neela.
“They took her,” I say tightly. “They took Neela.”
“Damn it. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. You even warned me something shady was going on in the colonies... I didn’t think it was happening here. Ugh... my head... I think I’m gonna puke...”
He lurches to the sink and loses the little water I just gave him.
“I need to rest,” he mutters. “We’ll talk later, Cat-Man. If you’re still around.”
“I’m leaving tomorrow. Gonna shower and clean myself up first.”
