Shock grabs him by the back of his neck and drags him forward until he can press their foreheads together. “We all make it out.”
“But are we all in one piece?”
Shock lifts his head, eyes flicking back and forth, searching for that in the future.
He doesn’t know. I don’t either.
“We should call Drift and the others for back-up,” Shock says it, but I can feel his hesitancy along with Arc’s unsettled nerves.
“They’re making sure their people are safe,” I remind him. “And it’s not going to be open in there. Tight quarters and too many bodies don’t mix well.”
“When we tell them, they’ll try to make us wait.”
“Can we afford to wait?” Arc asks. “If he hurts her…”
“He won’t,” I tell them. “He needs her.”
We all know why.
The compounding disgust is nauseating.
I survey the top of the fissure’s walls. There are no visible cameras. No defenses. If I couldn’t feel Chrys, I’d never have thought to look here. It’s just another crack in the inner caldera wall.
No one could blame Arc for missing it.
“I can blame myself.”
I don’t call Drift.
I call the one person I trust to ask no questions and to kill the Maker if we can’t first.
“Your outpost is on fire,” Fault says flatly, and in the small image of him in my visor, I see him putting on his suit already.
“Let it burn.”
“I assumed it was empty. What do you need from me?”
“He’s alive.”
He nods. “Word travels fast. Where is he?”
“Pin my location. When we get inside our tracers might not work.”
“Got it. I’ll be there before you know it.”
He hangs up.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Arc asks.
“He’s the only one who hates the Maker more than you,” Shock reminds him. “I think it’s a great idea.”
While I check my gun, Arc looks down at Kissu.
“Stay close.” It’s a good idea. He’ll screw up any cameras.
“We might need you to get Chrys to Ward’s outpost.”
“He’s not there.” I look at the dark windows.
