The sound comes again. A soft, mechanical hum that skims across the dunes, too controlled to be natural, too precise to belong to anything that lives on this planet.
Memory slams into place. Metal shadows. Fire falling from above. Invader ships cutting through the atmosphere like knives. Sweeping low over the sand. I swallow hard.
“No,” I breathe, shaking my head. “That’s not possible.”
We ended this. We?—
The hum grows louder.
Instinctively I look toward the narrow slice of sky visible above the crevasse. Nothing yet, but I know it’s there. Somewhere.Moving. Searching. I look at him. He hasn’t moved. Hasn’t reacted to the sound the way I have. Which means he already knew.
“You knew,” I whisper.
His gaze flicks to me for a fraction of a second. Then back to the opening.
“Yes.”
My chest tightens.
“That’s not—” I shake my head, trying to push the memory back, trying to force logic into something that doesn’t make sense. “That’s not supposed to be here. We?—”
The hum shifts closer. My words die in my throat. Because whatever we thought we ended is back. And this time it’s looking for him.
The hum sharpens, not louder, but closer.
It skims the air above the crevasse, a thin mechanical whisper that makes my skin tighten. I don’t move. I can’t even breathe properly. Because now I know what it means.
I’ve seen this before. Not this exact shape, but the pattern is the same. The way it searches. I edge a fraction closer to the opening before I can stop myself. His hand snaps out and catches my wrist.
“I need to see it,” I whisper.
“No.”
The answer is immediate. I tighten my jaw.
“I need to?—”
The hum dips, changing to a lower pitch. And then it appears.
It glides into view above the dunes, sleek and narrow, its surface catching the light in sharp, controlled lines. Not bulky like the Zzlo ships or the ones that brought the Invaders. This is cleaner and more precise. It moves like it already knows where to look. My breath catches.
“That’s not—” I stop, swallowing hard. “That’s not anything I’ve seen before.”
No response, but he’s not looking at the shape. He’s watching the pattern. Tracking how it moves. Where it turns. What it chooses.
The drone slows, just enough to shift from movement to intent. My stomach drops.
“It found something,” I whisper.
His grip tightens a fraction, which I take as agreement. The drone tilts slightly, angling toward a stretch of open sand a short distance away.
At first I don’t see anything. Then movement as a guster crests the dune, cutting across it in an arc, fast and smooth. The drone pauses for a heartbeat, then a thin line of light snaps downward. No buildup. No warning. Just impact.
The sand erupts into the air. Not like a collapse. Not like a predator strike. This is controlled and focused. The guster doesn’t even screech before it’s gone. No struggle. No escape. Just… removed.
The sand settles and silence slams back into place. My pulse is pounding so hard I feel it in my throat.
“That—” My voice shakes before I can stop it. I swallow and try again. “That wasn’t a weapon.” Because weapons miss. Weapons allow for reaction. That was something else. “That was….”
