The workshop felt too quiet. I paced once, twice, the echo of the signal still ringing in my ears.
The fear wasn’t just for me.
It was for all of them.
For him.
Outside, a low rumble rolled through the mountain.
Not thunder.
Something else.
Something was coming.
And for the first time since the convoy ambush, I wasn’t sure the mountain would be enough.
Chapter Fourteen
The Choice
Rygnar
When the summons came, the council chamber was already half full. Mesaarkans murmured in low, rough tones. Humans clustered near the back wall, worry sharp in their eyes.
Veklan stood at the center ring, his copper-toned crest catching the chamber’s low light. The courier tag, sealed inside my containment box, lay on the floor between us.
“This signal was active for at least six minutes,” Veklan said. “Long enough for anyone scanning the range to take notice. Our scouts have already detected movement near the southern valley. Two vehicles. Human, but armed.”
The hum of voices thickened.
“They may be raiders,” Councilor Vorn said. “Or they may be Enclave soldiers hunting for technology. Either way, they come here because of her.”
I met her gaze. “Because of me. She is not to blame.”
“She brought it,” Vorn snapped.
“And I destroyed it. You have my word—the beacon is dead.”
“Your word. From someone who chose one life over the safety of all.”
“I’ve defended this colony since before it had walls,” I said evenly. “I will do so again.”
Veklan lifted a hand. “Enough. We cannot un-ring the signal. What we decide now determines if we live through another season.”
He turned to me. “You and the human will remain in the upper dwellings until the scouts return. If the enemy approaches, we evacuate the surface routes. Understood?”
“Yes.”
“And Rygnar—” His tone softened. “You’ve done much for us. Don’t let affection cloud judgment.”
“It sharpens it.”
A ripple of quiet reaction moved through the chamber. Veklan did not rebuke me.
“Go,” he said. “Prepare.”
When I reached the upper terraces, the sky had dimmed to pewter. Lina stood near the railing, watching storm clouds gather over the ridges. Her hair whipped in the wind, that stubborn curl refusing to stay bound.
