Then the ridge behind megroans.
That’s the only word for it. Like some ancient beast buried in the earth is shifting in its sleep.
Darun shouts something, and I see it—the crack above, in the red rock wall. The kind of fracture that saysthis is where the canyon dies.
A cascade of stones tumbles down in slow, horrific poetry.
“MOVE!” Darun bellows, sprinting through the haze toward me.
I try. Oh, I try. My boot catches on the half-buried arm of someone already down, and I go face-first into the dirt. The blast of a collapsing ridge chokes the sun behind a mushroom of ash.
Darun hits me like a freight hauler, one arm hooking around my waist, the other shielding my head. I can smell him—blood, smoke, that strange metallic heat that always clings to his skin like a second armor.
We tumble together, land hard, slide down an embankment of scree and shattered equipment.
Everything is noise. Thunder. Screaming. Thenboom—a blast wave chases us like an angry god.
Darun grabs my hand and yanks me into the belly of a downed transport half-buried in the cliff wall. It reeks in here—old oil, scorched wiring, and the unmistakable tang of burned flesh.
We collapse inside just as a lance of plasma scorches past the open hatch, lighting the canyon in green-white flame. The entire world shakes. Dust rains from the ceiling. My ears ring like they’re full of bees.
He shoves the hatch shut. It doesn’t seal. Doesn’t matter.
It’s the only shelter left.
I cough, hard. My lungs rebel against the smoke, my throat raw and screaming. “That—was not—routine.”
Darun’s chest heaves. He’s crouched by the viewport, golden eyes narrowed. His rifle is already hot, smoke curling from the barrel. His hands are steady now—but I saw them shake when he pulled me in.
He doesn’t answer.
Static crackles from the unit clipped to his pauldron. He taps it. Again. Static. He growls low, like a cornered animal.
“Command, this is Bravo-Actual,” he snarls into the mic. “We are cut off. Coordinates Sierra-Red-Four. Multiple casualties. Request immediate evac and suppressive fire.”
Nothing.
Just the hiss of a dying signal.
He slams a fist against the console, denting it with a sharp clang. “Fuck!”
My hands are still shaking. I dig into my jacket, fish out a backup holopad. Miraculously intact, but signal’s dead. Of course it is. The canyon walls are too thick, and the ridge collapse probably crushed half the comm grid.
We’re alone.
I try to laugh. It comes out cracked and bitter. “So. That went well.”
Darun shoots me a look. “You think this is funny?”
“No,” I say. “But if I don’t joke, I’ll scream.”
He exhales sharp through his nose. Paces. Turns.
“We’ll get back to them,” I say.
He glances at me like I’ve lost my mind. “They’re either retreating or dead.”
“Then we’ll catch up. Or follow the smoke trail.”
