Page 90 of Fated in A Time of War

The corridor widens near the base of the tower. Reinforced walls. Emergency lighting strips casting long red streaks across the floor. The rumble of deeper machinery pulses through the soles of my boots.

Then she steps into view.

Misha.

Her uniform’s half-torn, one shoulder dark with blood. She’s holding her side, but still upright. Still dangerous. Her eyes narrow as she sees us, lips curling into something like regret twisted into rage.

“You don’t belong here,” she says.

Krall levels his blade. “Neither do you.”

Misha doesn’t flinch. “You don’t understand. What we’re digging for?—”

“I don’t care.”

I watch her jaw tighten. She glances past us, then back to me.

“He’s going to kill you,” she tells me. “Not him,” she nods at Krall. “Bonesnapper. He’s gone too far. He doesn’t care what burns.”

I lift my rifle. “Neither do I.”

The words surprise even me.

We start to step forward—but the floor groans under us. A deep metallic howl reverberates through the walls. The scent of scorched coolant and molten steel floods the corridor.

Then his voice comes, slithering through the vent systems, oiled and cold.

“Did you really think you could waltz through my tower, break my toys, andwalk out?”

Bonesnapper.

The bastard’s voice rolls through the chamber like thunder laced with broken glass. A hiss of hydraulics follows it—then the wall behind Misha opens like a wound, revealing a monster.

It’s not just a mech.

It’s a fortress on legs.

Ship-grade plating, scavenged missile pods welded to its shoulders, twin cannon arms glowing with heat. The cockpit’s reinforced glass reveals Bonesnapper grinning like a butcher behind the controls, one hand curled over the yoke, the other waving lazily like he’s greeting old friends.

Misha steps aside. Not because she wants to. Because sheknowsthere’s no stopping this.

I meet Krall’s eyes. His expression is unreadable, jaw clenched so tight the veins along his neck bulge. I place my hand on his forearm, the scales hot beneath my palm.

“Together?” I whisper.

“Always.”

He shifts, placing himself just ahead of me—not blocking, but anchoring.

Bonesnapper’s mech cocks one arm and the first shell loads with a hiss like a snake preparing to strike.

And just like that, war finds us again.

The standoff hangs in the air like a coiled spring.

Misha’s eyes flicker between me and Krall, her breath ragged, fingers trembling just slightly against the grip of her sidearm.Her face is flushed with blood loss, but there’s something else behind her stare—something old and worn thin. Guilt, maybe. Or exhaustion.

I raise my voice, clear and firm. “You don’t have to die for them.”