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He’d listened. For a minute. Maybe two.

Long enough for the platform to erupt in gunfire beneath them. Long enough for something inside him to turn sharp and unbearable.

Then the bond hit.

Ryneth felt the charge before the ship even stabilized. The storm vibrated through the metal floor beneath his boots, the current moving through his body like a second heartbeat. It ran up his legs, across his spine, into his teeth.

He knew exactly where Daven was. Not by sight, but by the violent pull in his chest. By the way every nerve in his body suddenly turned toward one point on the platform below, as if something inside him had locked there. The bond didn’t make mistakes. Daven had said that himself. He was here, and Ryneth was done staying away.

Relief hit so hard it almost hurt. So did the need that followed. He had been told to stay back. He had tried. But now that he felt him, really felt him, there was no chance in hell he was staying away.

The bond dragged him across the cabin before the pilot even shouted they weren’t clear.

Grabbing the hatch rail, Ryneth shouted, “Open it!”

One of the soldiers caught his arm. “You were ordered to stay put.”

Tearing free, Ryneth snapped, “Open the fucking hatch. I need⁠—”

But the hatch was already sliding back, storm wind rushing inside the craft.

Jumping down, Ryneth landed hard, pain jolting through his knees as lightning cracked overhead and the whole platform shuddered under him.

Gunfire erupted across the facility.

For one stunned second, all he could do was stare.

Harsh white lights burned over open production tables and shattered steel walkways, turning the whole chamber below into a nightmare of motion. White coats ran between the stations, masks flashing through the storm haze, while black and gold uniforms cut through them like blades.

It was the same impossible image Cyprian had sketched in charcoal. The same place Concordant had led them to.

Cold hit him hard enough to hollow out his chest.

Where the hell was Daven?

The whole place was still running, even with half of it already blown apart.

Ryneth pushed forward through the gunfire. A fallen rifle skidded near the edge of the walkway. He snatched it up without breaking stride. He knew how to use one from his years protecting the Ward.

Static crawled across his hands the second he saw Daven.

Silver-white light flashed over wet metal as Daven drove forward through the chamber below, air pressure slamming two masked rebels into a cargo barrier hard enough to dent the steel. He moved exactly like Ryneth knew he would, fast and vicious and impossible to mistake even through smoke and storm.

For one second, relief hit hard enough to knock him off balance.

Daven stood near the central production line with Vandor beside him, boxed in by a tight ring of Attica rebels.

Then Daven’s head snapped up.

For one split second, through lightning and gunfire and the chaos of the platform, their eyes locked.

Then Ryneth hit the lower walkway in a burst of static and stormlight, boots slamming against wet metal.

Daven just stared. Then his whole face changed. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

He moved before Ryneth could answer, shoving through the fighters between them, catching Ryneth by the sleeve hard enough to nearly yank him off balance. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“I felt you.”