Page 38

RAVIK

The shield segment had collapsed, creating a dark gap in the perimeter’s defensive glow. The absence of the energy field changed the air pressure subtly—a difference most humans wouldn’t notice but obvious to my senses.

I approached cautiously, staying in shadow, every muscle tense with readiness. My nostrils flared, catching the scent signatures of the nearest guards—still focused on the explosion site, their attention diverted exactly as planned.

I felt Zara’s pain spike sharply, followed by disorientation and fear through our bond. The sensations were so intense they nearly made me stumble.

Something had gone very wrong. I dropped all pretense of stealth and raced toward her location, keeping low beneath the sightlines of the automated sensors.

I found her staggering near the junction box, her hands outstretched, movements uncoordinated. The markings on her skin had formed new, complex patterns I’d never seen before.

They crawled along her skin like living circuitry, branching and connecting in response to the massive energy surge she’d absorbed. The smell of ozone and burned circuitry surrounded her.

But it was her eyes that sent a chill through me—unfocused, dilated, staring at nothing. “Ravik?” Her voice sounded through our bond rather than aloud, tight with panic.

“I can’t see.” The interface had taken her vision.

I’d seen similar consequences among Shadow Canyon archivists who attempted to access damaged technology without proper preparation. The clan histories documented cases where younger, untrained archivists interfaced with corrupted systems, the visual cortex overloaded by unfiltered data.

Some recovered after days or weeks. Others never did.

I reached for her, gripping her arm to stabilize her. She flinched before recognizing my energy signature through our bond.

The contact sent a surge of connection between us—her pain and fear flowing into me, my stability anchoring her. “Shield down,” she said, her voice strained.

Sweat beaded on her forehead, her skin too pale, too hot. “But I can’t—” “I know,” I replied, keeping my voice steady despite the urgency pounding through me.

The compound would notice the shield failure any moment. “Can you move?”

“Yes.” A lie, obvious through our bond, but her determination was genuine.

I shifted my hand to her back, using the touch to guide her while keeping my other hand free in case we encountered resistance. My tail remained low and tense, ready to assist with balance or respond to threats.

The compound was in chaos from my diversion—alarms shrieking, emergency lights flashing, the acrid smell of smoke and suppressant chemicals filling the air. The sounds would be overwhelming for Zara’s human hearing, but useful for masking our movements.

Still, it wouldn’t last. Already, voices were shouting about the shield breach.

We had minutes at most. “Three steps clear,” I murmured, using the bond to supplement my verbal directions with spatial awareness.

The terrain ahead was uneven, scattered with debris from recent construction. “Guard left!”

A confused security officer appeared at the corner of a maintenance shed, his attention divided between the main explosion and his patrol route. His weapon was drawn, the energy cell glowing faintly in the darkness.

I pulled Zara into the shadows, my tail wrapping instinctively around her waist to stabilize her as we froze in place. The contact was more intimate than I’d intended, but the effect was immediate—her balance improved, our movements synchronizing through the dual connection of hand and tail.

The guard passed within meters of us, unseeing in the darkness, the scent of his fear and confusion sharp in the night air. We moved forward again, Zara stumbling despite her best efforts.

Her blindness made our escape infinitely more dangerous, but the determination flowing through our bond never wavered. She followed my guidance with absolute trust—a stark contrast to our first days of captivity.

The memory of her defiance when thrown into my cell seemed from another lifetime, though it had been less than two moon-cycles. The breach in the shield was directly ahead, a ten-meter gap that led to the rough wilderness beyond.

The night air flowed through it, carrying the scents of the geothermal field—sulfur, mineral-rich water, the distinctive tang of native vegetation. We were halfway there when an automated defense turret swiveled in our direction, its sensors compensating for the reduced visibility.

The soft whir of its tracking mechanism reached my ears moments before its targeting laser activated. I pushed Zara down as energy pulses scorched the air above us.

The heat singed the ends of my braids, the smell of burned hair acrid in my nostrils. The ground was hard beneath us, stones digging into my partially healed side wounds.

“Stay low,” I ordered, both verbally and through the bond, sending an impression of the turret’s position. “Crawl forward on my signal.”