Her eyes darted across the scene—cataloging exit routes, counting combatants, measuring distances. All in the time it took me to breathe.
“The guards still have comm coordination,” she said, pulling a unit from a corpse without looking at the body. “But if they think the breach is somewhere else...”
She keyed the unit, and her voice changed. Went from her usual brightness to panicked, breathless terror: “Containment breach in D-wing! They’re in D-wing! Send everyone—oh god, they’re everywhere!”
She clicked off, tossed the comm aside, and grinned at me.
“Three, two, one...”
The remaining guards in the corridor looked at each other. One touched his earpiece, listening to orders. Then they ran—not toward us, but away, heading for D-wing on the compound’s opposite side.
“So much more efficient than fighting.”
We moved through the battlefield. She guided us between conflicts, using prisoners and Gravewings as mobile cover. When a guard spotted us, she pushed a wounded prisoner into his path, letting them tangle while we passed. When a Gravewing dove at us, she made three sharp clicks with her tongue. It veered away, finding easier prey.
My ribs ground with each step. The separated shoulder sent lightning up my arm. But her strength kept me upright, kept me moving. I could feel her adjusting our pace to what I could manage—the careful way she supported my weight, the micro-adjustments when I stumbled.
The impound dock was four levels down and half the compound away. We’d have to cross the central hub—the most damaged section from the structural collapses.
“Can you make it?” she asked.
“No choice.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I looked at her. Silver lines ran along her neck now, delicate designs that caught the emergency lighting. Her eyes held threads of silver among the brown. Mine.
“With you? Yes.”
She studied my face for a moment, then nodded.
The central hub had become a war zone. The massive open space—usually filled with processing desks and security checkpoints—was now a battlefield. Prisoners had built barricades from destroyed furniture. Guards held defensive positions behind overturned equipment. Both sides had wounded. Neither would give ground.
“Crossfire,” I said. “No way through without?—”
Bronwen put two fingers in her mouth and whistled.
The sound cut through everything—gunfire, screaming, the structural groaning of failing supports. It wasn’t quite human, carrying harmonics that made my teeth ache. She’d learned it from predators that hunted in packs, creatures that called their family to feed.
The Gravewings came from everywhere.
They poured through the shattered skylights, erupted from ventilation shafts, flowed through holes in the walls. Dozens of them, drawn by her call. They descended on the hub in a coordinated assault that turned organized battle into blind panic.
Guards and prisoners alike scattered, their conflict forgotten in the face of aerial death. Weapons turned skyward. Screams echoed off what remained of the walls. The Gravewings didn’t discriminate—everything that moved was prey.
“Now!” Bronwen pulled me into the chaos.
We ran along the edge of the battle, using overturned desks and destroyed processing stations as cover. She guided us like she could see the flight patterns before they happened. When a Gravewing dove too close, she clicked at it—different patterns for different messages. They responded instantly, veering away to find other targets.
A guard emerged from behind a barrier, rifle raised. Before I could react, Bronwen had moved. She grabbed the rifle barrel and squeezed. Metal crumpled. The weapon sparked anddied. She shoved him backward into the path of two fighting prisoners, and we kept moving.
“You’re not killing,” I observed.
“Don’t need to! They’re doing it to each other.”
Through the hub. Down a service corridor. The lights here had failed, leaving only emergency strips along the floor. Water dripped from burst pipes above. Somewhere behind us, a structural collapse shook the entire building.
“Impound dock is through there,” I said, pointing to reinforced doors ahead.
