"Move! Move!"
We drag him clear just as another section of wall buckles and crashes exactly where he'd been tied. The impact sends shock waves through the courtyard that I feel in my teeth.
Close. Too close.
But the collapse contines. What started as a localized failure spreads like infection through the ruins' structural skeleton. Load-bearing walls that survived centuries of weather andwarfare finally surrender to the accumulated stress of time and poor maintenance.
"There!" Ressa points toward what remains of the main gate. "That's the only exit still clear!"
She's right. The other approaches are blocked by fresh rubble or threatened by walls that lean at angles physics shouldn't allow. But between us and safety lies thirty yards of chaos where death falls from the sky in limestone chunks.
Standard tactical problem. Crossing a kill zone under fire.
Except the fire is gravity and ancient architecture instead of arrows and spears.
"My men—" one of her soldiers starts.
"Dead or scattered," she cuts him off with brutal honesty. "We save who we can save."
Practical. Ruthless. Smart.
I respect her for it even as I despise what she represents.
Thorne tries to stand and immediately collapses. His left leg bends at an angle that suggests broken bones and torn ligaments. Blood seeps through torn fabric where sharp stone found soft flesh.
"Can't walk," he gasps. "Can't?—"
"You'll walk or we'll leave you," Ressa informs him with matter-of-fact cruelty. "Choose."
She means it.
But when he struggles to his feet and immediately crumples again, she doesn't abandon him. Instead, she loops his arm over her shoulder and prepares to carry his weight.
Contradiction. She threatens abandonment but won't actually do it.
Interesting.
"Take his other side," she orders me.
"He's your prisoner."
"He's information we both need alive."
Another wall section shudders and drops in a cascade of dust and broken stone. The sound echoes off remaining structures like thunder in a narrow valley.
She's right. Dead smugglers tell no secrets.
I grab Thorne's right arm and help support his weight. Together, we begin the nightmare journey toward the gate through air thick with choking dust and the constant threat of death from above.
Trust her enough to share the burden. Don't trust her enough to turn your back.
Complicated.
Three steps. Five. Ten.
A huge block crashes down between us and safety, breaking into smaller chunks that ricochet like shrapnel. One piece catches Ressa across the shoulder, spinning her halfway around. She keeps her grip on Thorne but staggers under the impact.
Blood on her sleeve. Not serious but painful.
