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My attention shifted to the two translator stones hidden behind the loose rock. Their presence changed everything—communication possible where only crude gestures and impressions existed before. A dangerous advantage. Knowledge shared, the Elders taught, was often the first step toward catastrophe. Yet circumstances demanded adaptation.

I crushed mineral nodules between my palms, the crunch a welcome distraction. Jagged edges dug into my skin, releasingpotent oils—a necessary pain. The sharp scent, like Arenix’s northern fields after rain, filled the cell, acrid and cleansing.

The minerals came from deep caverns beneath Shadow Canyon, collected by Elders during sacred pilgrimages. I had carried a small pouch, hidden where Hammond’s men wouldn’t look. Generations of my people developed survival techniques; the Shadow Canyon Clan preserved ancient knowledge. I crushed the last of my hidden minerals between my palms, aware that once used, this resource couldn’t be replaced in captivity.

The rare compounds were traditionally used by the scouts of my clan to evade the guardian automatons that still patrolled the ancient ruins—remnants of technology from before the Great Division.

One application would have to be enough. This paste, crafted from rare minerals and specific plant saps, would mask our scent from both the automatons’ sensors and Hammond’s cruder detection systems.

Precise timing was crucial. Crush too quickly, the masking compounds wouldn’t release. Too slowly, volatile elements evaporated. My hands moved with practiced skill, learned as a child watching guardians prepare for patrols.

My lifelines tingled. Failing my clan. Not just by capture, but by my growing tolerance of the marked human. Solstice teachings were absolute: The marked outsider brings destruction. Silver lines open pathways to chaos. Prophecies warned the ancients’ dangerous patterns would reawaken, sealed chambers open, slumbering power stir. Yet destruction already surrounded us, wrought by Hammond, not Zara.

She stirred, roused by the pungent aroma or sensing my discomfort through our unwanted bond. Her eyes snapped open—full alertness. No slow transition, but instant readiness.

“What are you making?” she asked, voice husky.

I retrieved one translator stone. With the crystal between us, my response could be understood. “Masking paste. It conceals from electronic sensors and biological detection.”

Interest sparked in her eyes, that analytical mind shifting into gear. She moved closer, examining the crushed minerals, the extracted sap, the developing mixture. “You made this from materials in our cell?” Surprise and respect mingled in her tone.

“Hammond’s guards were careless inspecting the materials I requested for my injuries.” I indicated the pile of seemingly random stones and plant fibers. “They see only rocks, not resources.” The native plants grew even in harsh environments, their sap containing binding agents.

She studied my work, her scent—human, with an underlying note connected to her markings—mingling with the paste’s sharp aroma. “That’s why you asked for those specific items,” she observed, a small, appreciative smile curving her lips. “Clever.”

I ignored the unfamiliar warmth her approval generated. Focus was essential. “An ancient technique,” I said, continuing. “The paste disrupts scent recognition and electronic detection patterns.”

“How does it work against sensors?” Precise, technical—the engineer seeking principles.

“Trace minerals absorb specific detection wavelengths.” I lifted the paste, showing its consistency. “Properly prepared, it creates a field bending detection waves around the wearer.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Similar to stealth coating on reconnaissance drones.”

“The principle predates your technology,” I noted, pride in my clan’s knowledge surfacing. “My ancestors understood wave manipulation long before your species left its home planet.”

I added the sap, combining them with circular motions. The mixture thickened, powder to paste, deep blue to translucent blue-gray—drying clear on skin.

“We apply this before entering the vents again,” I said, testing the consistency. “Full coverage is required.”

Her markings pulsed, responding to my proximity or the escape plan. In the dim light, they seemed almost to reach toward me, responding to my lifelines in ways defying my understanding. I found it hard to look away. They followed her body’s contours, a landscape of light and connection. Not an abomination, but adaptive, responsive, complexly beautiful.

Dangerous thoughts, contradicting teachings. Yet my own eyes challenged those teachings.

“Show me our route again,” I said, redirecting to the dirt-floor map. Tactical discussion was safer territory.

Zara knelt beside me, close enough to feel her heat. It wasn’t just tension anymore. It was possibility. And I hated how badly I wanted to see where it might lead. Humans ran warmer, metabolisms faster. I heard her steady heartbeat, slightly elevated but controlled—a body prepared for action. “The command center is likely here,” she indicated a junction. “Based on energy signatures and communication patterns. Access might allow a diversion large enough to reach the eastern exit.”

Faint scars marked her hands, forearms—remnants of the crash, newer marks from Hammond. She’d survived both, emerging determined, not despairing. Another quality reluctantly admired.

“Beyond lies wilderness,” I added, sketching the terrain glimpsed during capture. “Three kilometers of unstable ground to the ravine. Increased geothermal activity—steam vents, sinkholes.” The unstable, rocky ground, sulfurous vents, adapted predators—my clan had mapped much of this region.

“Nothing compared to Hammond’s hospitality,” she replied dryly, grim warrior humor.

I appreciated her resilience, her levity. Perhaps humans and Nyxari weren’t so different. Another dangerous thought challenging core beliefs.

The paste reached optimal consistency. Practical need superseded philosophical discomfort. “We must apply this now,” I said. “The next patrol passes in thirty minutes. Time for it to dry.”

She nodded, rolling up sleeves. Silver markings shimmered. “How do we do this?”