Page 31 of Fifth
Locus dragged the body into firelight. His lip curled faintly at the sight of the gear. The man had come well equipped—sturdy boots reinforced with steel at the toes, abelt loaded with two sharp knives, and a short-barreled gun polished and oiled, its chamber cold but ready. And the rifle that lay on the ground.
The armor was layered leather reinforced with composite plates, built for men who knew battle. It was serviceable gear, even impressive by human standards, but still fragile against a warrior of hissize.
Locus hauled it on, the seams straining, tearing under the breadth of his chest and shoulders until the shirt hung open and useless, exposing more skin than it covered. The trousers split at the thighs, laughably short. He wore them anyway. Better half-armor than nothing. He cinched the belt until the leather groaned, tested the knives with a flick of his wrists, experiencing their balance andedge.
Then he studied the gun, turning it over in his hand, weighing its crude but deadly promise. Well equipped, yes. But against him it still amounted to nothing. He let the weapon settle in his palm one last time, then lowered it, already turning his focus to what mattered most—protecting the female and facing whatever the gate would unleash.
Hannah stirred again. Her lashes fluttered, eyes opening. She pushed onto her elbows, arms wrapped tightly across her chest. When she saw the corpse, her lips parted on a gasp. “Locus! What happened?”
He lifted a hand, sharp. “Silence.”
Her throat worked for an instant, but she obeyed. Her gaze flicked to the blood on his wrist, to the torn clothes he wore, to the lifeless form at his feet. She froze, breathing fast, her eyes too bright. Trust lived in them, but also a fear that cut sharper than the knife on hiship.
He ignored her questions and hoisted the body, carrying it with ease toward the looming gate. Steel teeth jutted overhead, sensors glowing red. Drones drifted closer, lenses blinking as they recorded every movement. For a moment the gate stayed shut, the air heavy with the scent of oil and burnt metal, as though waiting for dawn to signal the next trial.
Then, with the corpse thrown over the gate, the machine stirred. The body struck metal, sensors registering the offering,and vanished into the maw. Gears shrieked. Sparks rained down. The gate groaned upward at last, rising like a beast pulled from sleep. The sound echoed across the preserve.
Hannah flinched, escaping the lean-to and approaching. “What did you do?” she whispered.
Locus shifted, his eyes on the gate as the heavy machinery rattled to a stop. The teeth locked open, darkness yawning beyond. His pulse slid into its battle rhythm, but he finally looked back at Hannah. She needed to be ready.
“We had a visitor. Iended him.” He pressed the short-barreled gun into her hands, closing her fingers around the grip. “Do you know how to use this?” he asked.
Her eyes flicked up to his, wide, honest. “No.”
He crouched lower, covering her hands with his. “Then listen. Grip here. Brace your wrist. Sight along this line. You do not waste a bullet. You fire only if I fall.”
He guided her arms, showing the angle, the trigger’s pull, the recoil she should expect, all in a few clipped motions that wasted no shot. His chest pressed close against her shoulder, the heat of him bracing her as he shifted her stance.
She inhaled harshly, her voice low. “Like this?”
“Stronger,” he corrected, adjusting her wrist. “Keep it steady. Do not let it wander.”
Her breath caught, determination breaking through her fear. “And if I miss?”
“You will not,” he said. His tone left no room for doubt.
She nodded once, gripping the weapon tighter, the heft strange and heavy in her hands. He kept his voice low, firm, filling the space between them as he set her stance. “Now you’reready. Obey when I give the word.Keep it close,” he told her. “Aim only if you must. Stay at my side and move when I move.”
Once again, he adjusted her stance with a firm touch, positioning her where he wanted her, shielded yet within reach. Only when she stood where he needed her did he turn back, the air carrying the damp chill of night and the acrid smoke of dying fires, heavy enough to sting the back of his throat.
Darkness still cloaked the preserve, but torches flared to life along the perimeter, throwing jagged light across steel and stone. The sudden blaze caught drifting shadows that danced in wild shapes. Drones swarmed in low and rapid, their lenses blinking red as they sought every angle.
Beyond the fence the crowd that been sleeping in restless anticipation of the morning, awoke to the sudden groan of gears squealing through the camp. Torches flared higher and the uproar built as men and women shook off sleep to shout their approval, voices like a storm tide pressing closer.
For a breath Locus thought he had caught the hunters off-guard, roused from sleep by the gate’s unexpected rise. From the shadow of the forest, armor glinted dully in the torchlight, still marked by the darkness they had been waiting in. Torchlight flickered across their helmets, revealing eyes startled but not panicked.
In that instant he saw the truth. These weren’t common hunters drawn from Earth, nor desperate men like the one he’d just killed. Their armor fit perfectly, their movements carried the drill of soldiers. They were males from his own world, trained in ranks, bred for obedience and battle. The sudden blaze of the surrounding torches showed they’d been waiting in the dark all along, steady and prepared, their discipline unshaken.
They had been waiting forhim.
Locus measured each one in turn, eyes narrowing. Broad shoulders, disciplined grips on weapons. No wasted motion. They weren’t hunters who came for coin and sport. They were soldiers, drilled and hardened, and their presence here told him this was no accident.
Hannah’s whisper tugged at his ear, though she barely breathed the words. “They’re not like the others.”
He didn’t look at her, but his hand shifted slightly, asignal for her to stay behind him. The crowd beyond the fence grew restless, noise rolling and breaking like a pounding surf. They sensed something was wrong. Drones whirred closer, lenses flashing as they tried to make sense of the delay.
Then movement hardened, discipline like steel snapping into place. Locus’s gaze raked over them one by one, noting the differences—the scarred jawline of the first, the unnervingly calm stance of the second, the massive bulk of the third whose armor bore the marks of too many battles. Each carried themselves with a steadiness no hired hunter couldfake.
