Page 203 of The Space Between Stars

Calver wanted to answer. He wanted to help. Thousands of people below their feet were about to become compromised. But, Fates, if he gave a response, it might expose everything he was. Everything he’d done.

“Unless it’s like one of theirs,” Dex suggested, eyes dangerously narrowed. “Unless you’re one of them?”

He shook his head.

{Watch now. He will betray you.}

But as Calver imagined the possibility, the blanket of despair around his mind suddenly eased. The Survivor was… lying? Calver could sense endless destructive futures around him. But Dex wasn’t one of them.

Dex’s regard was just as wary, but his words were firm. “I trust you.” A terrible decision, but it inflated Calver’s chest all the same. “But there are people you’re going to have to answer to.”

And their numbers grew by the second.

Calver followed Dex’s gaze, now on Niklaus, who stood without a weapon, looking battered and entirely out of place. “What are you going to do, Meyernes?”

Niklaus cleared his throat. “Frankly, I’m open to suggestions.”

Calver pointed out.

“I imagine a smart dog with a dinner knife might fare better.”

Calver nodded at the dead guard.

Niklaus picked dirt from beneath his nails. “Probably even worse.”

“Lookout. Yes, I think that suits me.”

The entry to the maintenance stairwell atop the warehouse roof was locked.

Calver picked at it for long minutes before thumping his head against the door with a grunt. They were running out of time. His aggravation buzzed, even through the Survivor’s dulling effects.

Niklaus smirked. “I finally understand why you needed me to get you a shield in the first place.”

While punching Niklaus squarely in the nose might have made Calver feel better, it was not likely to help them release Steila’s captives. He instead punched the handle of the dowaga into the lock, breaking it off in one clean hit, but with more noise than he would have liked. They waited in wind-whipped silence, sure a guard was on their way to investigate. None came.

The minutes ticked by. Then the orange glow from the setting sun glazed the thousands of burgundy forms edging over the eastern rise in formation. The city dipped below them, dark and empty. Terathian forces, perhaps only a couple thousand in number, aligned themselves behind buildings at the city’s rear. Dread pooled in Calver’s stomach. Dex turned away, head in his hands. Niklaus watched, skin growing pale, aging by the second.

{You don’t have to witness this.}

The Tera’thians’ limited numbers were carefully calculated to take on the scraps of a martial force otherwise eliminated. Calver clung to his control, slipping with every second. He was asphyxiating. He was sure his head might cave in.

Then, behind the line of dots on the rise, a fire—like a second sun—blossomed in the sky. A deep charcoal cloud swelled around it, chased by a deafening pop that seemed to split the world. Screams sounded from the warehouse beneath them.

On instinct, Calver hit the roof. Dex and Niklaus followed suit. But Calver’s grip on his headspace fell back into place. That explosion had been behind the Red Wing’s lines. Behind—not among. He was back on his feet, scanning the rise.

The Groundling line held strong, marching into the city. Something bubbled in his stomach.

They still had a chance.

He nearly reclaimed his headspace, purely by accident, before he restrained himself. Cul’Mon couldn’t come here yet. Not until Dex and Niklaus were gone with any they had rescued.

“We didn’t lose anyone.” Niklaus’s mouth hung open before he repeated himself. “They detonated from beyond the line. We didn’t lose anyone!”

Calver sat still as Niklaus and Dex threw their arms into the air and thumped each other on the back.