Page 117 of Jump or Fall
Before she could find her balance, Gordon grabbed her arm, yanking her so forcefully she nearly fell to her knees.
They sprinted as fast as their suits allowed, but a deafening roar filled air. The shockwave lifted Mara off the ground and sent her crashing tothe pavement. If not for the suit absorbing the impact, she would have broken something.
She groaned, trying to get her bearings. It was impossible to see through the smoke and dust.
A firm grip hauled her up.
Gordon.
Relief washed over her at the sight of him. The memory of nearly losing him after the mech fight formed a tight lump in her throat. She would never leave him behind.
And he would never leave her.
“Millon and Kim went that way,” he said, pointing toward a shop.
They hurried over and spotted the others through the window. A handful of Millon’s guards had made it inside, while the rest secured the perimeter.
Kimmie sat on the floor against the back wall, her sister’s body cradled in her lap. Kimmie’s eyes were unfocused and hazy, her breathing shallow. Millon crouched beside her, pouring water over the gash on her head. His jaw was tight with barely restrained urgency.
“Someone find a fucking kit,” he snapped.
Mara rifled through drawers and cabinets, pushing aside old receipts and dust-coated clutter.
Finally, behind a stack of books, she found a mending kit with the giant Ascleon Therapeutics emblem. She popped it open and found a brand-new stitcher, gloves, sanitizer, and an expired bottle of Rapiderm.
She was about to pull on the gloves when Millon held out a hand. “I’ll do it. Hand me the gloves.”
Mara hesitated. “Have you used a stitcher before?”
He looked down and replied through clenched teeth, “Not in years.”
“Then let me do it.” She eyed Kimmie. “If she’ll let me.”
Kimmie’s head jerked in a barely perceptible nod.
Mara slid on the gloves and sprayed the cut with antiseptic. She observed the stitcher; it was a solid model, equipped with a staple setting. The cartridge was full and still sealed like everything else in the kit.
Mara pinched the split skin together. “Ready?”
“Just fuckin’ do it.”
She pressed the trigger, stapling the laceration closed. Kimmie sucked in sharp breaths through her nose but made no other sound. Millon gripped her hand, watching as she powered through the pain.
Kimmie’s gaze stayed fixed on her sister, one hand absently combing through Nella’s long hair. They were nearly identical—same sharp features, same light brown skin, and hair so pale it nearly turned white in the sun. The only real difference was their build: Kimmie’s frame was corded with muscle, while Nella had softer curves. Still, it was hard to believe they weren’t twins.
“Okay,” Mara said, inspecting her work. “I think it’s good.”
Kimmie fell forward, clutching Nella to her chest. “I can’t believe he killed her.”
“I’m so sorry, Kim,” Gordon said solemnly.
Mara sank onto the floor and gently touched her arm. She half-expected Kimmie to pull away, but she didn’t.
Kimmie let out a sob. “He was never going to give her up. That fucking asshole.”
“Do you think he knew we’d tricked him?” Gordon asked.
She shook her head. “No, he had no idea. He yanked my helmet off and I could tell he was pissed that I wasn’t Mara. He hit me in the head and tried to drag me away. That’s when Millon came after him.”
