Pav didn’t duck. He planted his feet and raised his weapon.
For one impossible second, the world narrowed to Pav and the drone.
The muzzle of his rifle tracked, adjusted.
One shot.
Pav fired.
The drone jerked mid-air. Rotors stuttered. Sparks blew out of its side.
It plummeted, spinning out of control.
“Pav—”
It hit the ground. A split-second of silence.
Something inside it ruptured with a white-hot crack. The blast was small but vicious, smashing through the trees and spitting metal outward in a lethal spray.
Pav’s body jolted sideways. He hit the ground, arm outstretched.
Everything stopped.
He didn’t move.
No. No.
She ran. Nothing else existed but closing the distance.
She skidded to her knees beside him.
He lay in a scatter of wreckage. Twisted rotors. Cracked casing. Acrid smoke bleeding from a shattered battery. One searchlight cast a crooked beam across the snow.
Her hands worked before her brain caught up.
Airway. Breathing. Circulation.
Training took over. Terror followed, clawing at her chest.
His head. So much blood.
Scalp wounds bleed heavily. She knew that. Knew it.
The gash above his left ear was deep, blood matting his hair. His shoulder—dislocated or worse. She’d deal with that after.
If there was an after.
Pulse first.
She pressed her fingers to his neck and sagged when she found it. Thready and rapid, but there.
Okay. Okay.
Airway.
She opened it carefully, mindful of his neck, her hands shaking only after they’d done what they needed to do.
“Pav.”
