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“It’s Red,” Fenrir got through his closing throat. “There’s a Prometheus.”

“What?” Daedra snatched the screen from his hand and brought it close to her face, nose scrunching as her eyes widened. “What forsaken sorcery is this…”

“Show her, Red!”

His back hit the floor at the precise moment he heard Daedra suck in a gasp. Then it was her turn to instruct, a second roar scratching through the tinny little speaker, Daedra’s gape looking more awed than horrified.

“Incredible,” she breathed. “The honor it has bestowed upon you.”

“But how do I kill it, elf!?” Red’s voice rose to a pitch Fenrir had never heard before. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe. “Fenrir said fire but—”

“Yes, fire. It’s terrified of your earthen fire.” From the corner of his vision Daedra shifted onto her knees and curled over the screen, white hair glowing against its cool light. “Create a circle around it, wide enough for it to stand but not so big it does not feel caged in from all sides.”

Fenrir listened to Red repeat the words over her walkie to the rest of the fleet.

“Right, done. Then what?”

“Why, you run, of course.” The incredulity in Daedra’s voice was enough to make Fenrir grin. The room was spinning, and his chest still felt like it was about to explode, but Red was going to be okay. The fleet was going to be okay. “Prometheus are dangerous, but they are also slow, and that one is injured. Weak. It will likely not pursue you.”

“Likely, she says.” Red’s snarl was a comforting thing. “Well, ain’t this my fucking luck!”

“My envy burns colder than all the fires in Hell,” Daedra hummed, oddly poetic.

“Put Fenrir back on!”

Daedra held out the screen towards him.

Fenrir took it and held it over his face. “Hey.”

Red’s scowl twisted. “Are you laying down?”

“Just narrowly avoiding a cardiac event.”

“Fuck, maybe you are out of shape—”

Light flickered over Red’s face. Glimmering, incendiary fire. Red’s eyes widened, then she grinned.

“All hells, I think it’s gonna wo—”

From the background of the call, a violent whoosh rose, like a storm wall closing in. Red dropped to the floor of the vehicle, screen flying from her hand, sky appearing then disappearing over and over again before everything went bright, and then black.

“Red?” Fenrir said, waiting for the image to reappear. “Red, you there?”

Upon the black screen, a white symbol appeared with a single crossed line through it.

Call Lost, the text read.

“Shit!” Fenrir tapped at the screen, then shook it. “Shit, shit, shit!”

“A glorious death,” Daedra murmured, head tipped back against the wall. “To mourn would be an insult to her memory.”

“She’s not dead!” She couldn’t be. Not Red. Not her too.

Not now that she’d found Orpheus’ trail.

I should be there.

Because hope wasn’t merely alive, it was within reach.