Page 85 of Storm of Stars
Briar and Thorne exchanged a silent look, then split off, sweeping the outer rooms. Zaffir and Ezra flanked me, close, steady, watchful. Their eyes kept moving, scanning every shadow like it might blink.
And me? I stood still. My pulse in my ears. The breath caught in my throat.
This place was supposed to be the heart of it all. And all I could think was, maybe hearts were made to break.
Zaffir crept forward, slow and deliberate, eyes locked on the cluster of terminals ahead. His fingers hovered just above the hard drive at his belt. If he could get to those terminals, if he could connect, it would all be there. Every minute of footage that had been erased. Every bloodied second of truth. The proof Praxis had spent nearly a century burying.
All he had to do was plug it in.
Behind him, Briar and Thorne moved with precision, scanning corners, checking blind spots, their bodies slipping into the roles they showed me so naturally in the Wilds. It had been weeks since then, but they looked exactly the same now, lean, alert, lethal.
I already thought their skills were impressive. Now, I thanked every star in the sky that they had them.
Zaffir was almost there. Just a few more steps.
I adjusted my grip on the useless rifle slung in my arms. My palms were slick with sweat, making it hard to tell if I was trembling or just melting into the floor. Ezra stood beside me, solid but tense, his breath loud and uneven in the quiet. I was glad to know that I wasn’t alone in this sinking unnerved feeling.
The moment Zaffir's hand touched the console, the screen flared to life.
A softclickand the whole wall blinked awake, flooding the room with a harsh, sterile glow. It wasn’t just the terminals either, but the wall of screens sparked on in a slow, deliberate hum, washing everything in cold, blue-white light.
I sucked in a breath through my teeth.
It felt like we’d just fired a flare into the sky.
No more shadows to hide in. No more cover of darkness. Just five Runaways in a spotlight, standing in the belly of the beast.
I saw the moment Zaffir realized it too, his posture stiffened, just a fraction. But he didn’t stop. He reached down, pulled the drive from his belt, and looked at us over his shoulder.
He offered us a quick nod. Then turned back to connect the drive to the waiting terminal.
That’s when the shot rang out.
Time didn’t stop, but it staggered. Everything lurched into slow motion. I heard the sharp crack of the bullet, the shattering of glass somewhere above, and then the echo bouncing off the walls in endless ricochet. Before I could even register where it came from, Ezra’s body collided with mine, shielding me as we hit the ground in a tangled heap.
Briar shouted something, maybe my name, maybe a command, but it was swallowed by the chaos as she fired a return shot. My fingers scrambled for the daggers at my belt. Cold steel, warm grip. I clutched them like lifelines.
More glass rained down, and my heart kicked into overdrive. Boots hit the floor in all directions and Ezra shot up beside me, gripping his pickaxe like a man ready to stand against the world.
I turned my head, trying to orient myself and that’s when I saw him.
Zaffir was on the ground, facedown. Blood was pooling beneath his outstretched hand, dark and steady. My stomach dropped, until his eyes found mine. He was alive. Hurting, but alive. Fury burned behind his pain.
Then the world snapped back to full speed.
I launched to my feet and bolted toward him, ducking low, dodging shadows, my only thought was ‘get to Zaffir. Protect him.’
At least ten, or maybe more, Praxis guards had stormed the chamber. Their uniforms were scorched, torn, splattered in oldand fresh blood. They looked like war torn ghosts of the people they used to be. So did we.
One of them rushed me. Ezra stepped between us like a wall of rage, driving the blunt end of his pickaxe into the man’s gut. There was a sickening crunch, and the guard crumpled.
I didn’t stop running. Zaffir was trying to get up, struggling. Another guard was bearing down on him fast. I didn’t think, I just moved. I sprinted and dove, clearing Zaffir’s body and slamming both daggers into the guard’s chest plate. They didn’t pierce deep enough to kill, but the hit was solid, jarring, and it knocked him off balance long enough for Thorne to send an arrow clean into his throat. The guard gurgled, then fell.
I looked up, just long enough to nod at Thorne. He was already turning, aiming at his next target.
I dropped beside Zaffir. His hand was a mess. Blood streamed from a hole torn straight through the center of his palm. He cradled it against his chest, breathing in short, shallow bursts.
“Zaffir,” I whispered, my eyes scanning for the next threat.
