“I’m already depleted,” Sidney replied in a similar undertone. “If I try to — ”
“I know what I’m asking. But if that drone reports our position, we’ll have tactical teams here in minutes.” Rebecca’s voice was steady but urgent. “I need you to knock it out of the sky.”
Ben felt Sidney’s hand tighten on his arm. Through their connection, he sensed her electromagnetic field — already strained, already pushed past safe limits. What Rebecca was asking could kill her.
“There has to be another way,” he said.
“There isn’t.” Sidney pushed herself up to a crouch and pressed one hand to her temple. “Ben, get ready to catch me if this goes wrong.”
“Sidney — ”
But she was already reaching out with her abilities as he spoke. He felt a surge of electromagnetic energy and watched as Sidney’s entire body went rigid with effort. Blood started flowing from her nose again, faster this time, dripping onto the dirty wood floor.
The drone stuttered in the air. Its smooth flight pattern became erratic, and Ben could hear the whine of its motors struggling against the unseen interference. Sidney’s hand shot out, fingers curling like she was physically grasping the device, and then she pulled.
The drone’s electromagnetic signature surged, then flatlined. It dropped from the sky like a stone, disappearing into the trees with a distant crash.
Sidney swayed. Ben caught her before she hit the floor, her body dead weight in his arms. Her eyes had rolled back, showing only whites, and blood poured from both nostrils now.
He lowered her gently and checked her pulse. It was still there, but rapid and thready. “Sidney, come on. Stay with me.”
Her eyes fluttered. When they focused on his face, he saw that one pupil was larger than the other — a sure sign of serious neurological distress.
“Did I get it?” she whispered.
“You got it. You got it, but you pushed too hard. Your pupils are uneven, you’re bleeding, and — ” His voice cracked, and he paused for a second so he could gather himself. “Why do you keep doing this to yourself?”
“Because someone has to,” she replied. Her palms went flat against the dusty floor, and he could tell she was trying to sit up.
“Oh, hell no,” he told her, holding her firmly but gently so she had no choice but to let herself relax against the floor again. “Not right now, you don’t. Just lie still for a minute.”
For a second, her mouth pursed, and he worried she was going to argue with him. The weakness of her body must have told her this was no time for protests, though, because she settled back down and closed her eyes, as if realizing that the best thing she could do now was conserve as much energy as possible.
Rebecca knelt beside them and was already pulling medical supplies from her pack. “This isn’t quite the same as a concussion, but let’s follow the same protocols. Keep her still, monitor her responsiveness, and watch for any sign of a seizure.”
Lewis Webb had moved toward the window so he could be safely out of the way while they worked. Now his gaze was fixed on the approximate place in the forest from where the drone had gone down. “That was amazing. I’ve never seen anyone with that level of electromagnetic control before.”
“At what cost, though?” Ben snapped. He kept his hand on Sidney’s shoulder, feeling the fine tremors that continued to run through her body. “She’s killing herself by degrees.”
Rebecca Morse’s mouth compressed for a moment. Then she said, “But she’s alive. And we’re not surrounded by DAPI tactical teams.” She held a wad of gauze against Sidney’s nose as she added, “Sometimes the only good choice is the least terrible one.”
Ben wanted to argue with her, wanted to rage at the impossibility of their situation. But Rebecca was right. They were alive, the drone was down, and they’d bought themselves time. That had to be enough.
For now, anyway.
“How long before DAPI realizes the drone is offline?” he asked.
“Minutes,” she replied briefly. “We need to move.” A pause as she glanced over at Lewis, who still stood by the window. “Is there anything else we need to know?”
Lewis knelt at once and rifled through his files, then pulled out a specific document. “Phoenix resurrection. Ben said you’re trying to help one complete its rebirth cycle.”
“That’s the plan, anyway,” he said.
“Then you need to understand something crucial.” Lewis handed him the document. A brief look told Ben that it appeared to be an academic paper, decades old and written in dense, technical language. “Phoenix fire doesn’t merely consume and remake. It requires a witness. Someone who can anchor the phoenix to reality during the transformation, or it becomes lost between dimensions.”
Ben scanned the paper, a sinking sensation beginning somewhere in the pit of his stomach. None of this sounded very good. “Define ‘anchor.’”
“An anchor is someone with electromagnetic sensitivity who can maintain a psychic connection with the phoenix throughout the entire rebirth process. Someone who can hold the pattern of what the phoenix is supposed to be while its physical form dissolves and reconstructs.” Lewis’s expression was grave, and his gaze shifted toward Sidney, who still lay motionless on the floor. “Your grandmother tried it once, Sidney. That’s in her journals. She maintained the connection for eight hours before she had to break it, and even then, she spent three days unconscious afterward.”
