Page 65 of Bride of the Enemy Alien

The words taste like ash because every instinct I have is built around walls, stores, people, routes home. Home is what I understand. Outside is what happens when home fails.

Rhazek watches, his face too controlled and his damaged wing tucked too tight. He’s bleeding again. Naturally.

“Orek,” I say. “Your arm?”

“Useful,” he says.

“That wasn’t the question.”

“It bleeds less than his.”

“Terrible standard, but I’ll take it. Lio, give me the ash packet from your belt. Maro, salt cloth.”

Maro blinks. “Why would I have salt cloth?”

“Because I told you to pack it before we left.”

“Oh. That salt cloth.”

“Every day is a miracle.”

We move under the leaning shade of a broken red stone shelf. Shade is generous phrasing. The suns still slice through every crack. But the rock blocks enough glare to let me look at Rhazek’s wound without my eyes watering.

The green thread under his ribs pulses when I move closer.

I stop.

It stops.

“Damn it all,” I whisper.

Rhazek’s jaw works. “Distance matters.”

“Of course it does.” I press ash and salt cloth together, not touching his skin yet. “The enemy installed romance-based proximity torment. Very thoughtful.”

“It is not romance.”

“I know that,” I snap, far too quickly.

We both know I know that. I hate him. He’s the reason I’m in this mess.

If he hadn’t come… what? Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Syin watches every movement. Renn stands at his shoulder. Orek keeps the south line. Lio and Maro stay where I put them, one watching the broken tracker, one watching the ridge where the kedi vanished with my token.

I lift the salt cloth toward Rhazek’s ribs. “I’m going to cover it. If it pulses hard, say so.”

“Yes.”

“If saying so is difficult because your body is busy becoming enemy equipment, grunt.”

His mouth twists into a cross between a grimace and a smile.

“Accurate instructions.”

“One of my many virtues.”

“You hide them well.”