I leap before she finishes anchoring.
The line snaps taut halfway across. It is not enough to hold me fully. It is enough to turn my body.
Enough to keep my body from slamming chest-first into the broken edge. I hit the far shelf with one clawed hand, then the other. Stone crumbles beneath my grip.
Sera throws herself backward, the line wrapped once around her forearm.
Her injured arm. No. She bites down on pain so hard I hear her teeth click. Red floods my vision. I climb.
Every claw finds purchase. Every muscle tears upward. The sample pouch drags against my chest, blue-white and pulsing hard. The shelf breaks under my left hand.
Sera screams. Not fear. Rage.
“Move, Kavor!”
I move.
I surge over the edge and roll into her, twisting before my weight can crush her injured arm. We slam into the wall together.
The line snaps. The far side drops into darkness. For a breath, there is only our breathing. Her body is half beneath mine. Her face is inches from my throat.
Her good hand is fisted in my harness. Her wounded arm is trapped between us, but not crushed. The bandage is red again. Too red.
“Sera.”
“Don’t,” she pants.
“You used the injured arm.”
“I used the available arm.”
“You—”
“Saved you.”
Yes. She did.
The red bijass has nowhere to go. It wants to become command. Roar. Claim. Rage against every force that has touched her. Instead, I close my eyes for one breath.
Choice. Door. Devotion.
When I open them, she is staring at me. Not afraid. Not exactly. Waiting.
I shift my weight off her slowly. I give her space. But not too much. The shelf around us still trembles.
“You saved me,” I say.
Her expression flickers.
“That surprises you?”
“No.”
“Yes, it does.”
“It terrifies me.”
The truth leaves me before I can make it smaller. Her mouth parts. The signal pulses below us. The floor answers. We are not safe. Not nearly safe. But the words remain between us, alive and dangerous.
