Page 44

I forced the panic down, compartmentalizing emotions as I’d been trained. Panic wouldn’t save him.

I needed to think, to use what I had.

First—check for breathing. I pressed my fingers to his neck, finding the slower, deeper pulse of a Nyxari.

Present, but weaker than it should be. His skin burned with unnatural heat—fever already setting in, his body’s response to catastrophic injury.

His tail lay motionless, a concerning sign for a species that used the appendage for both balance and emotional expression.

“Don’t you die on me,” I muttered, turning him onto his side to examine the wound more clearly. “After everything, you do not get to die on me.”

The bond between us flickered like a candle in a strong wind. I reached for it mentally, trying to strengthen the connection, to anchor him to consciousness.

His presence responded faintly, a dim awareness of my existence. Good.

He wasn’t too far gone.

I needed supplies. Bandages. Medicine. Antiseptics.

We had none.

My pack contained only the basics—the stolen datapad, a half-empty canteen, a few nutrient bars pilfered from the compound’s kitchen. Nothing even remotely approaching medical supplies.

We’d prioritized speed over preparation, gambling everything on a clean escape.

I sat back on my heels, momentarily overwhelmed by the enormity of our situation. Miles from any settlement, pursued by Hammond’s forces, with Ravik gravely injured and my own vision compromised.

The rational part of my mind—the engineer, the problem-solver—calculated our odds of survival with brutal precision. They weren’t good.

Then, unexpectedly, my markings tingled, responding to something nearby. A sensation I’d felt before when interfacing with technology, but different—organic, complex, alive.

I looked up, squinting against the distorted vision. Plants surrounded us, alien vegetation that had seemed meaningless before.

Now I sensed something from them—properties, energies, purposes.

I crawled to the nearest plant, a low shrub with fibrous, paddle-shaped leaves. When my fingers brushed it, information flooded through me: absorbent, antiseptic, cooling.

Properties registered not as words but as innate understanding, knowledge transmitted directly to my consciousness.

“Is this one safe?” I asked aloud, knowing Ravik couldn’t fully respond but hoping the bond would carry something. A faint affirmative feeling brushed my mind—not words, just certainty.

He knew this plant, recognized it despite his semi-conscious state.

I harvested several leaves, then moved to another plant that had caught my attention. This one grew close to the ground, with a thick, succulent stem.

When broken, it produced a sticky blue-green sap. The markings recognized it: antibacterial, seals wounds, numbs pain.

Working quickly, I gathered materials from several plants, each one registering with properties useful for our situation. Some I recognized from the compound garden where Talia had worked before her escape—she’d shown me which ones the Nyxari used for healing.

Others were new, but my markings reacted to them with unmistakable clarity.

I created crude poultices and bandages, crushing leaves between rocks, collecting sap in a broad leaf. My awareness guided my hands when my eyes failed, sensing the proper preparations rather than seeing them.

My vision swam in and out of focus, but my fingers moved with increasing confidence, following the silver energy that seemed to know exactly what Ravik needed.

I cleaned his wounds as best I could with water from our stolen canteen, then applied the improvised medicines. The sap formed a natural seal over the worst of the burn, while the fibrous leaves served as primitive bandages.

A soft groan escaped him as I worked, his tail twitching in pain.