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“What?”

He tilted his head.

I listened.

At first all I heard was wind. Then something scraped against metal ahead of us.

Something heavy.

Irregular.

Another sound answered from somewhere to the left.

Veyr’s entire body changed. “Behind me.”

Normally, that would have started an argument.

The shape that stumbled through the dust ended it.

It was too large to be human, too hunched to be Zunatorian, with a heavy body built low to the ground, moving on all fours. Its movements were wrong—not stalking exactly. Disoriented.

I had seen images before.

Barbs.

“That is not what I wanted tonight,” I whispered.

“Quiet.”

“I am being quiet.”

The Barb lifted its head.

Apparently not quiet enough.

A second shape moved behind it.

Veyr’s ŭre brightened faintly beneath his sleeves.

I caught his wrist before he could raise his hand.

His eyes cut to mine.

“The storm,” I whispered.

He frowned.

I pointed past the creatures.

A sheet of loose material had torn free from one of the storage structures and was slamming rhythmically against the wall. Every impact made the nearest Barb jerk toward the sound.

Not hunting us.

Confused.

“They’re following noise.”

Veyr looked once.