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Then the next explosion hits, then the next, and the next—mine, and Lucky’s, and Jasper’s, hitting the throng of Sinners from all sides, over and over in brutal, obliterating bursts.

And it’s not wood that’s reduced to splinters this time.

Bodies are ripped apart in chunks and splashes.

They’re thrown in all directions as different explosions hit, and sprayed dirt and grass and body matter cloud the air in noxious fucking clouds.

It takes a while before the last explosion hits.

Before the last shot is fired.

Rain patters all around us like miserable fucking tears—but this time, when the thunder roars, nothing answers.

Everything is graveyard quiet as the dust, finally, settles.

All the torches have been extinguished, and I can’t see shit as my eyes try to adjust.

A single pair of boots crunches out of the dark.

Slowly, painfully, I get to my feet. I need to squint to make out the lone figure walking out from the trees, but I shouldn’t have bothered. I’ve only known the tall, tatted fucker as our captive, but between fucking with my girl at Cyanide and this, he’s made it to the top of my To Kill list.

Alastair.

“We realize you’ve acquired one pack from us today,” he says. “Know we have three more just like it here. Unless you’d like to discover just how creative we can be in making use of our supplies, I suggest you cease your fire on us for tonight. We can reconvene in the morning.”

Alastair takes one final look over the moat, at the remnants of the bridge—the catastrophic amount of death that lies at his feet—and his mild expression doesn’t shift.

Except for the smallest cold smile as he nods to us.

“Until tomorrow.”

Loathing burns through my gut as I watch his back, and I reach for another frag I know I don’t have and probably shouldn’t throw even if I did.

Three more packs of heat.

Fucker. Absolute fucker .

The rain starts coming down hard, and the sky flashes with a blinding shot of lightning.

“Fall back to the platforms,” I shout as I storm back toward Bristlebrook, thunder chasing me. “We keep watch all fucking night, do you hear? Thirty up at a time, the whole up if they so much as piss our way. Sloane?”

“Got it! First and second of our usual watch pull in now, we’re up first. Can we get some umbrellas?” she calls back.

“Yeah, I’ll get Eden on it.”

Lucky and Jasper come up beside me, and Ava, Katherine, and Shelby aren’t far behind as we hurry up to Bristlebrook, rain pounding us. It soaks my shirt, my socks—by the time I hit the porch, I’m wet to the bone.

“Visibility sucks. Is the watch going to be okay?” Lucky shivers.

“You got your helmet? Goggles?” I ask.

He nods. “Upstairs. Two sets.”

We make it through the front door, and the cries and moans of wounded hit me hard.

Harder than I expected. I slow. The furniture in the sitting room has been cleared to the side, and rows of people are lying on blankets and pillows—mostly Reapers, but a few civs, too, who look like they’ve caught ricochets.

More cries come from down the hall past the kitchen, where the med bay is, and Deanna strides past me. She’s calm, her microlocs secured under a cap and her hands clean to the wrist—the rest of her clothes are splattered with blood.

Reapers and civilians mill around, pouring through the door, damp and dirty.

“Hold him down , Pete,” Beau snaps as he tries to suture a flailing Reaper’s arm. Pete hovers his hands over the Reaper’s shoulders. “Use your weight, damn it. Hold him. I can’t spare the pain meds.”

I can’t see Eden.

I feel blood trickle down my cheek from my graze, but I wipe it away, annoyed.

“Get the helmets,” I tell Lucky distractedly, only to see he’s scanning the room the same way I am. “Mine’s in my closet, get Dom and Beau’s, too—and any spares they have. Spread them out. You up to join first watch?”

“Yeah . . . yeah, that’s fine.”

“Where’s Eden?” Jasper asks.

He’s favoring his wounded arm, but he steps around me to look in the kitchen. Mary Beth shoves past him with a bucket of steaming water.

Anxiety springs up in my chest. There’s more panic hitting me now than at any point under fucking fire.

She was on the porch, for fuck’s sake. Dozens of people had eyes on her.

Jasper glances back at me, his throat corded. He’s paler and more haggard than usual.

“And Dom?”

“Side tunnel.”

My fists clench.

No.

I’m not doing this again.

“Someone tell me where the fuck Eden is—right fucking now!” I roar.

The busy chaos of the room stills, dozens of faces turning my way.

Dozens of clueless-as-shit, sheep-for-brains, stupid, fucking?—

“Jayk?”

“Oh, thank fuck.”

Lucky’s voice is shaky, and we all look up to the top of the stairs. Eden is hurrying down them, still in her flimsy ass nightdress, though she’s found a shirt from somewhere to throw over the top of it. Her eyes flick between us, relief as pungent as mine pouring off her.

But I only have a second to enjoy the relief because as soon as she hits the ground, she clutches my arm.

And her eyes are full of tears.

“Jayk, I’ve looked everywhere, but she isn’t here,” she tells me.

I look into her eyes, and in the reflection of her glasses, I see the casualty notification officer walking into my barracks, asking for a private word.

“Who isn’t?” I whisper.

Ryan is dead.

Eden bites her lip, looking at my face like she’s being torn to shreds.

“Kasey is missing.” Her tears hit her cheeks. “Jayk, I think she was trying to raid the Reapers again. I think she’s outside.”