Heat signatures flared from each one—a dozen semi-autonomous biological sensors, responding to proximity and stress like targeting systems.
Their mouths opened in tandem, and Xen wasn’t sure if they were emanating power at the men or absorbing life from them.
And then a snake looped down to peer into the bodycam, blocking his view momentarily.
“Handled,” Cassia checked in. The curious snake curled away, and Xen saw two Hollows—that’d previously been bombs, near detonation—turned to stone, and the other two...were stone as well.
“They didn’t listen,” she said. “Where to next?”
“Aceon’s working on the next floor.”
“On it!”
“My yacht’s secure!” Lung reported. “Except for the fucker in the panic room. Did we bring any laser-tech shit?”
“Negative on lasers,” Xen said. “But we can bring paralytic gas to you, once the field has calmed down. Get access to the air circulation system and await further instruction.”
“Copy!” Lung called back.
Xen switched to subsurface scans. Two of the yachts had launched submarines in the past twenty minutes. He didn’t have a way to contact Omara or her krakens, but he knew they were in play.
One had already stopped moving. The other was moving erratically—like it was being shaken by a dog.
They were on the cusp of controlling the field—but still no word of Sirena or Nex.
Just as Xen was rerouting a strike team, a system ping lit up. Legacy routing, encrypted with Nex’s old handshakes.
NEX → XEN | PRIORITY: CRITICAL
Xen froze.
He parsed the packet. Corrupted. Fragmented.
The signal was degrading—fast.
[BEGIN MESSAGE // NEX → XEN]
I’m down.
No uplink.
Bleeding out.
Love her for me.
[END MESSAGE]
Xen stood still.
Reports kept coming—Royce requesting reinforcements, Lung yelling about ducts, Aceon waiting for orders.
He didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
The packet hovered in his buffer like an echo that refused to clear.
Nex was dying. Maybe already dead.
