The vortex expands instantly. Cold mist curls around my legs, and pressure builds in the air like the world itself is collapsing inward.
I barely have time to inhale before the portal slams in around us. Black mist closes from every direction. The sensation is indescribable.
It’s not like falling or even flying. It’s more like being shoved sideways through reality itself.
Force presses against my skin. Cold bites into my lungs. The world folds, then snaps back.
Suddenly we’re somewhere else. The portal collapses behind us with a low, echoing crack.
The air is warmer here. And smells strongly of the humid forest surrounding us.
I blink slowly. We’re standing in front of an old building. A massive sign above the entrance readsBowling.
The letters flicker faintly in the late afternoon light. The old bowling alley, the front of house for the rebel settlement—also a place I never thought I’d see again.
My legs finally give out.
Before I can hit the ground, Varek catches me. He lifts me easily, one arm supporting my back while the other slides under my knees.
The movement sends a bolt of pain through my ribs. I suck in a breath, but I don’t complain. Because if he hadn’t caught me, I would absolutely be on the hard ground right now.
He holds me like I weigh nothing, and he doesn’t let go. Not even when we reach the reinforced doors.
The guards on the roof shout down in recognition, and the metal doors creak open.
Inside the bowling alley, the transformation from abandoned entertainment venue to rebel headquarters is as strange as ever.
The old lanes stretch across the room, their polished surfaces scarred and scratched from years of use. Tables from the snack bar have been rearranged into workstations covered in maps and weapons. Fighters from half a dozen species move through the room with quiet purpose.
Someone is actually bowling at the far end, the clatter of pins echoing faintly in the distance.
Varek ignores all of it. He carries me straight towards the small medical room near the back. “Iris,” he calls.
A human woman looks up from a table cluttered with medical supplies. Her dark hair is tied back messily.
“Well,” she says calmly. “You look like you’ve had a day.” She finishes tying the bandage in front of her and turns towards us. “Put him here.”
Varek hesitates, reluctant and protective.
“Varek,” she says patiently.
He lowers me onto the examination table with exaggerated care, then stays right there. Close enough that I can feel his warmth.
The moment Varek lowered me onto the table, the rest of the world seemed to rush back in.
Pain.
Exhaustion.
The dull, throbbing awareness of injuries I’ve been ignoring out of sheer stubbornness.
Iris steps forward immediately, already rolling up the sleeves of her shirt as she reaches for a tray of instruments. “All right,” she says briskly, her voice steady in that calm, practiced way doctors develop when chaos is routine. “Let’s see what we’re working with.”
Her fingers are quick but careful as she starts unwrapping the rough bindings the guards had thrown around my arm. The moment the pressure shifts, a bolt of pain shoots up to my shoulder and my vision swims briefly.
“Broken,” she mutters. “Poorly set, but not catastrophic.”
“Good to know,” I rasp.
