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“What did it send?”

“Identity confirmation. Biological response. Location—corrupted, I think.”

Dreven looked toward Ash Camp’s distant fires. “Then we assume they know the region.” The machine kept trying to survive. Every few minutes a buried component woke and attempted another transmission. Jessa would shout, Keth would drop the shielding blanket, and Kesta would tear out a glowing filament while Dreven watched the sky for an answering signal. The third activation came from a shard embedded in Dreven’s torn armor.

“Stop,” Kesta ordered.

He halted instantly. She slid her fingers beneath the damaged plate. Blue light pulsed against his skin.

“There is a transmitter under the latch.”

“Cut it free.”

“That will cut you.”

“Then cut accurately.”

Kesta looked up. “You are allowed to care whether this hurts.”

“I care whether it signals.”

“That was not the same sentence.”

Around them the patrol waited while the pulse brightened. Dreven corrected himself. “Tell me what you need.”

“Hold still. Keth, ground the plate. Jessa, narrow blade.”

Kesta cut through the fused seam millimeter by millimeter. When the armor came free, the transmitter unfolded tiny silver legs and tried to burrow deeper. She crushed it beneath the alkaline canister. The pulse died. Blood ran down Dreven’s ribs.

“You need sutures.”

“Later.”

“Now.”

He yielded. While she sealed the cut, his tail curved behind her, guarding the open ridge without touching. Neither mentioned how close they stood.

“You asked me to choose with you,” he said.

“Yes.”

“I would not have released you ten days ago.”

“No.”

“Was I wrong then or changed now?”

“Both can be true.”

He absorbed that as the patrol lifted the wreckage again. They carried the drone wreckage home beneath thermal shielding. No one spoke of leaving it behind. Information was worth the risk now, and the decision belonged to the group.

Ash Camp sealed its gates before midday. Keth doubled the wall guard. Families moved into the inner tunnels. Sera prepared the infirmary for casualties while Kesta and Tavi dismantled the drone on a stone table. Tavi’s shoulder should have kept him in bed. Instead he sat on a crate and directed Kesta with infuriating precision.

“Not that plate. The black plate.”

“They’re all black.”

“The one that looks expensive.”