“I said it’s a study.”
“And I saidbullshit.”
His voice doesn’t rise. It drops. Quiet. Deadly. Like the calm before a quake. Like the man who once ripped another warlord’s throat out because he looked at me too long.
My heart punches my ribs.
I look away.
“I can’t,” I whisper. “Not yet.”
A long silence.
At last, he stands.
“Then don’t come to me with half-truths and science words you think I won’t question.”
“Kyldak—”
He doesn’t look at me.
Just walks away, spine stiff, jaw clenched like he’s holding something back with both fists.
Back in the tent, I sit alone. The medkit at my feet. The sample case clutched in my lap like a secret about to explode.
The man who could save our son hates being lied to.
And I’m still lying.
But how do I tell the truth?
Hey, by the way, you’ve got a kid and he’s dying and you’re his only hope but I didn’t tell you because I was afraid you’d rage out and murder the next ten people you saw in response.
Yeah. Real smooth.
I watch the little blinking light on the sample case.
Kyldak’s cells.
A cure.
And a countdown.
The moment the tent flap closes behind me, I run.
Not a full sprint—just fast enough to not feel anything. Fast enough to outpace the hot sting in my chest and the memory of Kyldak’s eyes narrowing like he saw straight through me. Again.
I duck into the crawler bay, the stink of rust and coolant hitting me like a wall. It’s abandoned this time of night. Justbroken machinery, old grease stains, and hollow echoes that don’t judge.
Perfect.
I kick a loose coil across the floor.
Then another.
Then I slam my fist into a half-open toolbox, and metal wrenches clatter out like bones. Pain spikes up my arm, sharp and satisfying. It feelsreal. Finally. Something that makes sense.
I press my forehead to the cold metal casing of the crawler’s engine shell. My breath comes out ragged, wet, like I’m choking on smoke that isn't even there.
