Peoplescreamas we plummet, the building crumbling around us. Every faint, harrowing cry has me straining my ears, trying to discern whether it’s Mayah. The building quakes for what feels like hours, but it must only be minutes.
A loudboom.
Cracked beams and rubble encase my legs up to my calves. Nothing feels broken. I stagger to my feet, kicking loose debris. Every inhale sends more dust spiraling down my throat, until I can’t swallow without tasting destruction.
I suck in a deep inhale anyway. “MAYAH!”I shout once more with all my might.
Silence answers.
Faint energy signatures thrum, so muted I hardly notice them. Everything is muddled. I can’t tell which is Mayah—if any.
She was near Tumaas. He’d have shielded her. If I were her—or him—I’d be climbing out. There’s no chance of finding her within the bowels of the collapsed building.
So I climb. I carve out a path through broken stone and splintered beams, crawling through the crumbling darkness. Blood or sweat drips into my eyes—it’s too dark to tell which. With aching knees and raw, scraped hands, I climb.
Dread suffocates me as I emerge atop a mountain of rubble. Or maybe it’s the dust. Thunder rumbles overhead, rain falling steadily over the camp.
It’s chaos.
Screaming people, fallen buildings.
And blood. It mingles with rainwater, pooling in murky puddles on the ground. I swivel my head, scanning every direction. No sign of her.
She made it out. Shehadto. Tumaas was with her—he’d have been able to heft stone and beam and make a path for them. If she were injured, she’d have healed herself. Logically, I know those are the most likely options, but they bring me no comfort.
Knocking away more stone, I yank up the man I’d found halfway up the climb.
“Can you stand?” I ask, scanning him closely. Cuts mar his severe features, and he favors his broken left arm.
The man nods, blue eyes taking in the mayhem. His nostrils flare at the stench of burned bodies.
“Then let’s go.”
I help him climb down the mound of stone, balancing him when a rock gives away beneath his feet, face twisting as the motion jostles his broken arm.
“Find shelter,” I tell him when we reach the bottom.
And then I run.
Chapter Sixty-Six
Mudsquelchesbeneathmybare feet as I bolt through the camp. Sura. She’d have gone to find Sura.
Corpses litter the ground as I dart through alleyways—one has me coming to a jarring halt. An ice spear is lodged through the dead man’s throat, green eyes open and unseeing.
But it’s the insignia on his chest plate that commands my attention—a large tree, speared through by a lightning bolt.
Fuck. It’s Arbinj.
I don’t dwell on why they’re here. Metal shrieks as I draw the dead soldier’s sword from his scabbard.
And I run.
The childcare tent looms ahead of me, rain drumming on the canvas roof. It’s still standing. No soldiers. No corpses. But the weight on my chest doesn’t ease. The flap flutters in the breeze as I enter, sword ready. Darkness blankets the room, faint moonlight illuminating the row of tiny beds against the far side, the haphazard scatter of toys across the faded carpet.
No energy signatures.
Not a sound.
