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Mal’ik opened his mouth, probably to express the same incredulous fury Leon felt, when the door to the roof opened and Martha ran out.
“Headquarters is captured!”
The world slowed. Martha raced toward him, but the seconds between when those words left her mouth and when she grabbed his arm stretched out infinitely. That couldn’t be. Not captured, not yet. Under assault, maybe. Undersupplied, sure. Going to get here late, even. But captured? Without sending any vehicles, without sending any men?
“We need to evacuate!” Martha shook him with both hands, and time slammed into Leon again.
He knocked her arms off him. “What are you talking about?”
“We’ve just started!” Mal’ik’s own denial layered over Leon’s. “We haven’t even lost a man yet.”
Martha rounded on him. “And we’ve lost everyone at headquarters!” She turned back to Leon. “Or nearly, at least. One runner got out to warn us. He’s on the first floor.”
Leon left them both and ran for the stairs. He catapulted himself down them and into the building’s lobby. “Where’s the man from headquarters?”
“Here, sir!” A young man, barely old enough to have been accepted into the ranks, pushed himself from the wall and limped toward him. He had a gash in his left thigh and was as pale as the white wall behind him.
“What happened?” Leon demanded, striding over to him.
“I think it was a gas attack, sir.” The boy did his best to stand up straight, and he didn’t flinch when he looked into Leon’s eyes. “When we reported to the armory, the door was locked. We banged on it, but I don’t think anyone answered. And then this yellow gas started coming out from under it. Then the door opened, and”—the boy’s face crumpled—“and it was the worst thing in the world.” The boy swayed.
Mal’ik strode from the stairs and grabbed his shoulder. “Ethan.” Mal’ik turned the boy to look into his face, and Leon realized with a start it was the young man Mal’ik had embraced down in the alley. “What was it? What did it do?”
“I don’t know.” The boy shook his head. “I don’t know, but it was terrifying. And everyone was going crazy. And people shot each other. And some of the grenades went off. I was still in the hall, and I ran.”
“Who else ran?” Leon didn’t dare touch the boy with Mal’ik’s big, protective hands on his shoulders, but he stepped into the boy’s line of sight. “Who else got out?”
“Not many.” The boy swallowed. “I nearly ran right into a squad of Klah’Eel just when I got out. They shot at me.” He looked down at his wounded leg, a mass of dried blood and singed fabric. “They mostly missed.”
“They could have fought back.” Leon spun to face Martha, who stood at the base of the stairs with a stern expression. “They could be holding headquarters.”
“They’re not.” Her tone was brutal and final. “They’re not responding to hails and”—she jabbed a finger upward at the roof they had just come from—“you can see Klah’Eel ships hovering over the building.”
Leon turned to Mal’ik, and Mal’ik met his look grimly. Leon’s heart convulsed. If even Mal’ik thought it was a lost cause, then it was. His hands shaking and trying to hide it, Leon turned to the soldiers gathered around their little tableau.
“Call the retreat.” His voice came out as an unimpressive rasp, and he swallowed and tried again. “Call the retreat! Every block within a six-block radius of here needs to be cleared of all our men and women. Get everyone to the evacuation ships and tell the roof gunners to cover and follow them.”
“And get the gunships in the air first,” Martha added before anyone dispersed. “They need to cover the evacuation ships and prevent any fire from falling on civilian structures. The Klah’Eel won’t care if they take out the people of Kaston while taking us down, but we will.”
As everyone left, Leon moved on with an overwhelming instinct toward the door. Martha and Mal’ik followed him, but when he broke toward the land cruiser still sitting in the street from when they drove up, Martha caught his arm.
“Where are you going?”
Leon ripped his arm away. “Headquarters.”
With a snarl, Martha grabbed his arm again and wrenched him around. “It’s gone, Leon. They’re dead or captured—”
“Not yet!” Leon snapped. “Sebastian wouldn’t be yet!”
Martha’s mouth fell open, and her grip loosened.
Leon didn’t care what he’d just said or what he’d revealed. He spun and ran for the cruiser.
He thought he’d been ready to fly away from Kaston and leave it burning behind him with too many of his men in it, and maybe he still was, but he hadn’t conceived of leaving Sebastian behind to burn with it. The possibility had never entered his mind. Leon had never thought of Sebastian as in danger. Sebastian only ever was danger.
But now Sebastian was trapped in a doomed building with klah’eel with guns and ships circling around him, and it was all Leon’s fault.
What had he done, what had he done, what had he done?
