I curse and vanish into the nearest gulch, shadows swallowing me whole.
Not ten heartbeats later, the marines arrive.
They thunder across the rocks in disorganized formation—no discipline, no tight cover. Civilians with guns playing at being soldiers. I watch from behind a cleft, crouched so low the stone grates my horns. Their voices echo.
“Holy shit!”
“Is that—? Oh, god?—”
“It’s Carson!”
One kneels. The others sweep the area with plasma rifles half-raised. I recognize the bald one—Fisk?—his helmet’s off, eyes wide. He gags and turns aside.
Grady shows up last, barking orders. “Secure the zone! No one moves till we ID what did this!”
“I don’t need a forensics read,” one of the others says. “Look at the size of those tears. This was the Odex.”
I growl low. Fools.
They take readings. Someone tags the body. Grady’s pacing now, jaw clenched, eyes scanning the horizon like heknowsI’m close.
Then he says it.
“Prep the charges. Full perimeter lock. If that bastard’s still out there—we’re not waiting this time.”
There it is.
War.
Not declared. Assumed.
I watch the first fusion charge get slammed into the earth, its base hissing as it activates.
And I sink back into the black, heart pounding with the rhythm of wrong.
CHAPTER 9
JILLIAN
The news hits like a slap.
“Carson is dead,” Grady says, voice flat, jaw squared like he’s clenching back rage or maybe just protocol. “Killed by the Odex.”
The words hang in the air like smoke. Thick. Heavy. Wrong.
My knees nearly give out, but I don’t fall. I can’t. I’ve fallen before, in training, in simulations, but not here. Not now. Not when everything’s spinning and shrinking and burning inside me all at once.
I hear a whimper from one of the girls behind me—Myra, maybe. Someone sobs. Someone else throws up. The camp’s silence fractures into broken noise—sharp and uneven. Darwin stumbles back, hand over his mouth, eyes glassy. Grady doesn’t flinch. He stands like a stone. Cold. Unmoving.
I wrap my arms around myself, fingers digging into my ribs, but not for comfort. To ground myself. Because if I don't, I’ll scream. And not for Carson.
For thelie.
It’s not the grief that turns my stomach—it’s the disbelief. The hollow ring of the accusation. “The Odex.” As if that explainseverything. As if Carson hadn’t beenafraid. Hadn’t come to me shaking. Hadn’t whispered that something was wrong.
The compad. I feel it even now in my satchel. Heavy. Burning. Like a secret that knows it's time is almost up.
I don’t say anything.
