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ZARA

The groan of stressed metal dragged me back to consciousness. My head throbbed, a dull counterpoint to the sharp ache in my shoulder where the stun baton had connected. Restraints bit into my wrists and ankles, cold salvaged steel against my skin.

I blinked, trying to focus, but the low, flickering emergency light did little to dispel the gloom. Recycled air, thick with the smell of ozone and something metallic, filled my lungs. Transport vehicle, standard salvaged model by the vibrations. Moving.

Fragments returned. The ruin perimeter. The unstable energy signature I’d tracked for weeks. Getting too close, trying that active scan... stupid mistake.

My markings still tingled unpleasantly, a low-level static beneath my skin. They’d warned me, in their own chaotic way, but I’d pushed too hard.

Three weeks surviving alone in the western mountains after the lab collapse. Hiding from Hammond’s search parties, scavenging for food, drinking from streams that tasted of minerals I couldn’t identify.

All while tracking the anomalous energy signature that kept my markings buzzing like live wires. The Eastern Settlement needed to know what Hammond was up to. If only I’d been more careful.

I tested the restraints, flexing my wrists against the metal cuffs. No give. Military-grade, probably salvaged from the Seraphyne’s security bay.

Trust Hammond to prioritize restraints over basic necessities. The transport hit a rough patch, and pain jolted through my bruised ribs. I bit back a groan. Show no weakness. Not to Hammond’s people.

The transport lurched to a halt, throwing me against the restraints. A heavy door hissed open, flooding the compartment with harsh light. Rough hands grabbed my arms, hauling me upright.

“Move it, marked trash.”

I stumbled out onto packed earth, squinting against the glare of portable floodlights. The night air was cool against my face, carrying the scent of dry stone and something acrid, like burnt circuitry.

A crude structure rose before me, built into the side of crumbling, ancient ruins—just like the energy signature suggested. Hammond’s new playground.

I scanned what I could see, an automatic security assessment. Salvaged plating haphazardly attached to stone. Exposed conduits carrying power that felt wrong to my markings.

Armed guards with mismatched equipment—a mix of Seraphyne security gear and cruder implements. Defensive perimeter established with makeshift barriers and what looked like repurposed sensor arrays. Six guards visible, likely more inside. Weapons primarily stun batons and salvaged pulse rifles. Limited but lethal.

Something in the ruins was interacting with the silver lines under my skin. Not just the usual static tingle of technology, but something deeper, more resonant.

“Sir, this one was carrying a translator stone.” A guard held up the small crystal I’d managed to keep hidden for months. My stomach dropped. Without it, communication with any Nyxari would be impossible.

From the shadows of the main entrance, a figure emerged. Hammond. Thinner than I remembered, more haggard, but with the same cold, calculating eyes.

The blue-white glow from a makeshift lamp cast harsh shadows across his face, deepening the lines there. His uniform was worn but meticulously maintained, the insignia of the Seraphyne’s security chief still prominently displayed, as if clinging to a rank that no longer existed.

“Graydon.” His voice was exactly as I remembered it. Precise. Controlled. “I knew you’d survived the collapse. Always were resourceful.”

He stepped closer, his eyes fixed on my face with an intensity that made my skin crawl. Looking for weakness, for information, for confirmation of whatever paranoid theory had consumed him now.

“What were you doing at the perimeter sensor? Scouting for your Nyxari friends?”

I kept my expression neutral. “Just trying to stay alive. Same as everyone.”

A thin smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Lying doesn’t become you, Graydon. You were tracking our energy signature. The question is why.”

He gestured to the guard holding the translator stone. “Take this to analysis. And take her to holding with the other one. Full search. No rations until tomorrow.”

Other one? My stomach knotted. Another prisoner? Another marked woman?

The guards flanking me tightened their grip on my arms, propelling me forward. We passed through the main entrance, a crude arch reinforced with salvaged metal struts.

The temperature dropped as we entered the ruins, the air becoming noticeably damper. My markings prickled more intensely, the sensation spreading up my arms and across my shoulders.

The corridor was narrow, the stone walls ancient and worn smooth. Crude electric lighting cast sharp shadows on surfaces inscribed with glyphs I recognized from the Eastern Settlement ruins.

Nyxari script, older variations than what I’d seen before. The deeper we went, the more my markings responded, a persistent, uncomfortable buzz just beneath my skin.