Page 21 of Fated in A Time of War
The Kru don’t patrol. They don’t “secure” an area. If they’re here, it’s because someone paid them to kill everyone in it. Which means the clock I thought I was racing just started ticking faster.
Alice’s eyes are wide above the cloth of her mask, but she doesn’t panic. Doesn’t even fidget. Her gaze flicks to me, a silent question:What now?
What now is simple.
We don’t get seen.
I lean down, my voice barely a breath in her ear. “You move when I move. No sound. No heroics.”
She nods, slow and deliberate. I let go of her mouth but keep a hand on her arm.
I peek again, just enough to see the mercs shifting formation, scanning with casual precision. They’re looking for something—or someone. My gut tells me it’s not Ataxians. Which means I might already be on their list.
A cold knot forms in my chest. If they’re here for Alliance survivors, I’m worth a bounty. If they’re here for something else, I’m still in their way. Either way, they won’t hesitate.
The Kru don’t take prisoners.
I ease back, keeping low. The smell of ozone from their powered armor systems drifts into the crater, faint but enough to raise the scales on my neck. My heart’s steady, but my hands want to shake. Not from fear. From the itch to move first. To act before they do.
Alice is watching me. Not the Kru—me. It makes my teeth clench. She should be afraid ofthem, not wondering what I’ll do.
Her voice is a whisper I almost miss. “You know them.”
“Everyone knows them,” I mutter. “Stay behind me.”
And just like that, the war shifts again. I thought I was stranded. Turns out, I’m hunted.
I drag her down behind a slab of broken ferrocrete, the edges sharp enough to cut if we press too hard. Dust plumes up, gritty in my throat, stinging the cuts on my knuckles. I shove her flat beside me and press a finger to my lips.
Her blue eyes lock onto mine. She nods once, slow, deliberate. No hesitation.
That unsettles me more than if she’d fought, more than if she’d tried to scream. It’s too easy. Too damn quiet.
I ease the scope up over the slab. The lens is cracked down one side, but it’s enough. Through it, the world sharpens—jagged wreckage, fire-pitted ground, and the Kru.
Four of them, at least. Maybe more in the shadows.
They’re unloading crates—black steel coffins with hazard glyphs scorched off. Could be salvage, could be weapons, could be bodies. With the Kru, you never know. And I don’t care which. What matters is the ship.
Their dropship squats in the crater like some beast from an old nightmare—hull bristling with guns, plating scorched from reentry. Engines hiss and tick, heat shimmering off the vents. The Kru move around it with casual menace, their armor whining with each step, hydraulic seals catching the light in ugly gleams.
My stomach knots. Every instinct I’ve got screams to stay low, stay hidden, wait this out. But waiting gets you nothing. Waiting gets you killed.
I track one merc through the scope, cataloguing details the way Lakka drilled into me: rifle model, stance, the way his helmet turns too wide, favoring his left side. Weaknesses. Openings.
“Think, Krall,” I mutter under my breath. “Not just hit. Think.”
Something tugs at my sleeve.
I jerk my head down, ready to snap—ready to shut her up before she gets us both cooked. But Alice doesn’t speak. She doesn’t even breathe loud. Just raises one bound wrist and points.
My gaze follows her gesture.
At first, I don’t see it. Then I do.
Mounted on the flank of the ship, half-buried in plating and scorch marks, is a comms tower. Damaged, sparking weakly, but intact.
My heart slams once, hard.
