Page 38 of Rook

Chapter seventeen

Rook

My hand goes for the small drone in my jacket the moment trouble stirs, fingers curling around its cool metal body. Luka’s already pulling his pistol free, movements as fluid as any predator’s.

“Get to it, Rook,” he barks, eyes scanning the desolate horizon. I don’t need telling twice.

I crack the window just enough, the dry air immediately sucking away any remnants of comfort as I toss the drone out into the open sky. It’s all part of the dance—the slide of glass against metal, the whisper of wind, the drone taking flight. In seconds, my phone’s in my other hand, the screen alive with feeds and controls as I maneuver the drone upwards.

“Got eyes in the sky,” I mutter, thumb brushing over the display with practiced ease, the other gripping my gun with an unwavering hold. The device hums outside, a silent extension of my will, scouting the area as I keep us grounded inside this tin can on wheels.

“Good,” Luka grunts, eyes never leaving the exterior. “Keep it steady.”

My focus is split between real and digital landscapes, heartbeat syncing with the drone’s rhythmic buzz. Gunfire stitches the silence outside, a rapid staccato that shreds any illusion of safety.

“Stay here,” Luka snaps without looking at me, his voice a harsh command that leaves no room for argument.

“Like hell—“ I start to protest but he’s already moving, door flung open as he rolls out into the chaos. My heart wants to follow, but my body freezes, caught between duty and the instinct to survive.

“Dammit, Luka!” I curse under my breath, fingers tightening around my gun. He’s a shadow slipping through the afternoon heat, darting toward Aisling’s car, toward her.

Bang!

Glass explodes inwards, spiderwebs of destruction creeping across what used to be a windshield. Another shot—a sickening thud—then a spray of red that isn’t from the dying sun. The driver’s head snaps back, an exit wound where there shouldn’t be one, and he slumps forward, lifeless.

“Shit, shit, shit!”

I don’t have time for shock, for grief. There’s only adrenaline and the primal need to act.

“Come on, Rook, don’t freeze up now,” I mutter to myself, trying to push past the fear clawing at my insides. I’ve survived worse than this, and I’ll survive today.

I have to.

Gun in one hand, drone control in the other—I slide out of the car, keeping my body low. The Mojave Skyway is a battleground, my senses on overdrive as I navigate the asphalt and debris. Dust kicks up around me, the air hot and dry, clogging my throat.

“Rook!” Aisling’s voice cuts through the gunfire. I zero in on her position—crouched behind the vehicle, eyes stormy with fear and determination.

“Are you hit?” I ask, dropping beside her, scanning for any sign of injury.

She shakes her head, strands of blonde hair sticking to her forehead. “No gun,” she says, and it’s all the information I need.

I press my weapon into her palm. “Show them what you’re made of, Stargazer.”

Her fingers close around the grip, a fierce light igniting in her grey eyes. “Thanks.”

She springs up, aiming with a surgeon’s precision, letting off a trio of shots that echoes in my skull. I’m about to cheer when a shadow lunges from around the wreck of a burnt-out car, seizing her arm.

“Rook!” is her sharp cry, cut midway as the thug tries to drag her away.

“Dammit!” My voice is rough like gravel. I can’t get there fast enough, but Oberon—Oberon’s already on it. He barrels into the guy like a freight train, his fists hammering down in a merciless cadence.

“Get your hands off her!” he roars, each word punctuated by a blow.

“Oberon,” I bark out, my eyes catching something—a mark on the thug’s neck, just visible above his collar. An Eclipse tattoo, dark and ominous. Crap. These guys are high-level scum, not your garden-variety wastelanders. They’ve got resources, training, and a hell of a vendetta against us.

“Watch it,” I growl at Oberon, who’s still raining down punches. “These ain’t amateurs!”

Gunsmoke chokes the air as I sprint between heaps of twisted metal, the sun beating down like it’s got a score to settle. My heart’s pounding a drumline in my chest when my eyes find Vance mid-brawl—a blur of silver and black silk suit.

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