Page 108 of Under the Iron Sky

The line was quiet for long seconds. “It’s fine. We’re fine,” she amended quickly.

“Liar. Has something happened?”

The silence on the other end stretched on long enough to make his stomach hollow out. Was he already out of power? “Raina?”

“I’m here,” she eventually replied. “Things … haven’t exactly been great. We’re already running low.” Theron was grateful she didn’t elaborate on what.

He’d put everything into this mission. He’d had help from Ma’varea, but it was his carefully drawn-up plans they were following. He’d put his entire faith in this, begged Command and kissed the arse of every lower commander who’d needed to be kissed to siphon Light away from their base to power all the equipment he needed to do this. A risk, yes, but worth it if everything went their way.

If he failed, though … Everything—the loss of resources, equipment, the deaths—they’d all be on him, and he didn’t know if he’d be able to survive that.

He shouldn’t ask, but he needed to know. “How bad has it been?”

“You’ve got so much on your plate right now. You don’t need to hear this.”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know. Tell me.”

She blew out a long breath. “There’s been … discussions since you left.”

“About what?”

“Siphoning Light from the familiars if things get any worse.”

Theron shot up straight, a mixture of anger and nausea churning in his empty stomach. “Are they fucking crazy? They can’t do that!”

His skin crawled remembering how close they’d been to doing it years ago, when things had been at their worst before Ma’varea.

It still happened in the wild though. He’d lost count of the number of familiars he’d come across while out on scouting missions or raids, metal bodies left strewn and lifeless and often torn apart, not by Dar’rak or any of the dark creatures from beneath, but by either Vordellians who couldn’t find a base and had drained the familiar out of dire need or Scavengers, the people who chose to live in small clans out in the dystopian wilderness.

A shiver ran down Theron’s spine just picturing those savages. What they’d been known to do to a familiar unlucky enough to be caught in their path. Sick fucks. He hoped they all fell into spider nests.

“We need this to work, Theron,” Raina said, pulling his attention back. Her voice was strained. “If it doesn’t …”

“It will work.” There were no other options. Especially not if Noreen was hedging emptying the familiars again. The thought of Jinx being drained like that almost made him retch. Speaking of which, “Is Jinx—”

“She’s safe with me, don’t worry,” Raina cut him off. “She’s been glued to my side since you left. And for the record, she’s not happy about you leaving either.”

As if Theron needed to be reminded of this, a feline yowl rang from his bracer.

Theron couldn’t help but smile. “I miss you too.”

Metallic clinking on the other end, then Raina asked, “Do you really think this Ma’varea can be trusted?”

“Yes.” Because what choice did they really have?

When he finally let her go, he stared up at the empty blackness above, twirling the smooth bit of metal in his hands. Since their last meeting, Ma’varea had insisted they needed to be able to contact each other in case anything went wrong—something Commander Noreen was not exactly happy about. They’d had an extra meeting just before they set the final wheels in motion for this, and Theron had passed on a communication device, a small sliver of old metal forged with a fraction of the technology the bracers had—not the power to shield or attack but to contact—him alone, specifically, or rather the matching bit of metal that Theron was now flipping between his fingers.

The design was all right, but he hated looking at it, if only because he knew Soraya would’ve made something better.

He pushed to stand, stretching his arms to relieve the ache from being on such an uncomfortable surface, when it vibrated in his palm. An incoming call.

Theron answered with a click. “Is it done?”

“Yes,” Ma’varea’s deep, magically altered voice called from the other side. “She’s got the note—and no, I didn’t stick around to see her face before you ask. Secret identity, remember.”

“Fuck off.” Theron had been about to ask, but the fact that Ma’varea seemed to know him that well already still stung. “When do we start the next phase?”

“Tomorrow,” Ma’varea snapped. “I trust the explosion did what it needed to do on your end?”