Page 80 of Bride of the Enemy Alien

His voice roughens. “Kessa.”

The glow under his throat gives one faint pulse. I lift a hand, signaling for him to stop, and he does. So does the pulse.

It’s a tiny victory. Pathetic, really. Barely enough to feed a mouse, but I’ll take it.

We enter the City through the east watch door, not the main gate. The heat drops by a fraction as we enter the stone corridors. The smell changes from salt and blood to dust, oil, and too many people pretending not to be afraid.

Home, not necessarily safety, but home.

Rosalind is waiting in the east council room with Virn, Visidion, Merra, Adran, Sera, and Kavor. Penr may be limping, but terror gives him pro speed. Adran looks from Rhazek’s throat to the blood on my sleeve.

“Where is the tracker?”

“Broken,” I say. His expression eases by a fraction before I ruin it. “The receiver sent a partial proof packet before we killed it.”

Every person in the room tenses in their own way, making the tension so thick that it’s suddenly hard to breathe. Sera’s hand finds Kavor’s. Visidion’s wings shift behind Rosalind. Virn lowers his chin. Merra swears so softly it almost sounds like prayer.

Adran’s face hardens. “Partial proof of what?”

Rhazek answers before I can.

“Enough.”

The one word is worse than a speech. No one says anything, but their eyes dart from him to me, then back to him. I don’t know what to say or do myself, so I set the wrapped broken tracker on the table. No flourish or drama. Drama can wait outside with the other unnecessary guests.

“We have to decide what we do before whoever hears it comes looking,” I say.

20

Rhazek

No bells ring and no crowds gather in the corridor. No one is screaming that the sky has found them. That is Kessa’s work.

Every person in this room keeps glancing at her as if waiting for the next route, the next order, the next lie that will keep panic asleep long enough for people to survive until morning. She stands beside the stone table with blood dried on one sleeve and salt dust on the other. She has not sat down. Neither have I.

Syin stands close enough to cut me if necessary. Orek is with Merra getting his arm stitched while pretending he does not feel it. Renn guards the door. Lio and Maro have been sent to eat, drink, and not tell anyone the sky blinked at us. I doubt they will manage the last part forever, but hopefully long enough.

Rosalind touches the wrapped tracker with one finger, then looks at me.

“Explain it again. Slowly,” she says.

I do.

Hull relay broken in the crash. Loud beacon destroyed. Carrier tracker picked up by a kedi, moved through the burn flats, then broken. Blood relay under my ribs activated by the final ping. Dead drop receiver south-east of the crash basin. Partial packet sent before we crushed it.

Not a thinking device. Not a beast with strategy. A chain of mechanical teeth, built by people who expected bodies to fail and wanted proof anyway. When I finish, no one speaks.

Adran breaks first because Adran is built from polished fear and useful suspicion.

“Partial proof is still proof.”

“Yes,” I say.

“What did it contain?”

“I cannot know for certain, but assume coordinates. Non-Zmaj winged survivor. Zmaj heat signatures. Human heat signatures. Possible bond resonance. Epis likelihood.”

Sera goes pale at the last two words.