Page 81 of Storm of Stars
Dark plumes of smoke unfurled like ribbons into the sky, thick, heavy, undeniable. Black columns rising in stark contrast against the brightening morning light. The gates of Praxis were burning.
Wave two had done their job.
A thrill of adrenaline surged through me. It was time.
I ran the last stretch to the tent, heart pounding, legs quick. I didn’t hesitate to pull back the flap. My Wildguard was still tangled in sleep and blankets, peaceful in a way we might never be again.
But peace had to wait.
“Wake up,” I said, urgency threading my voice. “It’s starting.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
Ezra
“Wake up,”Zaffir’s voice broke through the haze of sleep, urgent but steady. “It’s starting.”
My eyes fluttered open, vision blurry and unfocused. I turned my head and found Bex beside me, her lashes fluttering as her gaze met mine. There was a moment where the world outside didn’t exist. Just her. Just this.
I wrapped my arms tighter around her, pulling her close in an instinctive embrace, like I could shield her from what was coming. She tucked her face into the crook of my neck, warm and drowsy, but the tension was already building in the space between us.
Near Bex’s feet, Thorne let out a groan, clearly not ready to surrender the comfort of sleep. “Ugh, five more minutes,” he muttered, throwing an arm over his eyes like a petulant child.
Briar was up in an instant. She rolled smoothly to her feet with a catlike stretch, eyes sharp and clear.
“It’s starting?” I asked Zaffir, still trying to piece reality together. The dreamlike fog in my brain made everything feeldistant, like we had all the time in the world, when in truth, we had almost none.
“Wave two’s explosives just went off,” he confirmed, kneeling beside the bedroll to set down a plate piled with dried meat, fruit, and hard bread. “Wave three’s moving in to take the guard towers now. If they can secure them and hold the line, we’ll be up next.”
Briar wasted no time, already plucking fruit from the plate like she was picking weapons off a rack. She tossed a red piece of fruit to Bex with a wink. Bex caught it easily, offering a half-asleep smile in return.
I sat up, rubbing my hands over my face before grabbing a piece of jerky and taking a bite. The salt and chewiness grounded me slightly, helping to sweep the remnants of sleep from my system.
“So… if they take the towers,” I said around a mouthful, “that means it’s our turn?”
“When,” Bex corrected gently, her voice still husky with sleep but her resolve already shining through. She offered me a soft smile.
I reached out and let my hand trace slowly down her bare back, savoring the feel of her skin under my fingers. Goosebumps followed in the wake of my touch. I liked that I could still do that to her.
“Yeah,” I murmured, “when.”
“I’d say we’ve got a few hours,” Briar interjected, crouching to lace up her boots with military precision. “Long enough to eat, clean up, gear up, and breathe. Maybe.”
She was fully awake now. Sharp. Focused. Like a general. Honestly, it was impressive. Maybe even a little intimidating.
I looked around at the group, Zaffir sitting beside us now, Thorne muttering something incoherent into the mound ofblankets and Bex, still pressed against my side, taking slow careful bites of her fruit. My chest tightened.
We took turns washing up, and then suited up in borrowed clothes and light armor from the armory tent.
Briar took charge, naturally. She moved through the weapons racks with a soldier’s ease, hands brushing over the familiar contours of guns and blades. She holstered a sleek pistol at her hip and filled her bag with extra rounds, every motion precise, practiced.
Thorne gravitated toward a bow and a quiver of arrows, his fingers testing the string’s resistance with a quiet reverence. “I used to hunt with one of these back home,” he said, a rare seriousness in his voice. “It’s quiet. I like quiet.”
Zaffir, sweet and slightly out of his element, eyed the racks like they might bite. In the end, he chose a pair of small daggers that he strapped to his belt with a shaky but determined hand. But his camera, his real weapon, remained slung over one shoulder, ready.
I stared at the firearms like they were some alien relics. I didn’t know the first thing about shooting one, and I sure as hell didn’t want to risk hurting someone on accident. But a pickaxe, blunt, heavy, straightforward, I could handle that. It had weight. It made sense.
