Page 123 of Burning Ice
“Breathe,” Kylix said.
He did, slow and careful. The smell of metal filled his lungs. He felt the ship turn, the horizon tilting beneath them.
Helianth called something to Vandor. Mirel didn’t listen. He only knew Kylix’s arm had come around his shoulders, solid and sure. The warmth pushed through the shaking until he could lean into it.
“You’re cold,” Kylix murmured.
“I’m fine.”
“Liar.”
The word pulled a weak smile from him. It sounded like home. He turned his face toward Kylix’s chest. The heartbeat there was strong and slow. It drowned the sound of the engines.
Mirel felt his body start to unclench, muscles easing one by one. The fear still lived under the skin, but it no longer ruled his breath. He could feel Kylix’s thumb tracing slow lines along the back of his neck, grounding him in touch alone.
Helianth’s voice cut through the quiet. “Eight minutes to base. Med bay’s ready.”
Vandor answered from the rear. “All clear.”
The words floated around them without weight. Mirel closed his eyes. The hum of the ship became rhythm. The bond in his chest steadied to match it.
Kylix’s voice came close again. “We made it.”
Mirel nodded. His voice came soft. “You burned for it.”
“And you froze it. I’d burn again. Don’t make me prove it.”
He wanted to answer, but the exhaustion hit before he could. He let his head fall against Kylix’s shoulder. Heat met cold. The contact held.
The memory of the blast still hummed beneath their skin, faint but alive, the echo that had carried them both through the fire.
The engines steadied. The light through the window turned pale gold. For the first time since the fire started, the silence felt like peace.
The craft lurched away from the tower. Through the viewport, the skyscraper folded in on itself, an enormous bloom of flame sinking into darkness.
The cabin filled with the thrum of turbines and the ragged sound of breathing. Medics moved quickly, wrapping Mirel and Kylix in thermal foils. Someone passed around water pouches. The air smelled of smoke and ozone.
For a few heartbeats, no one spoke. Then Helianth exhaled. “Status check.”
Yure said, “All accounted for.” He moved toward Ryneth, checked the readouts on the monitor, and gave a short nod. Vandor adjusted the hatch seals and confirmed the pressure locks. The crew steadied for the descent.
The sound faded into the drone of engines. For the first time that night, silence no longer felt like danger.
Somewhere, this moment already existed, fixed in black and white.
Helianth sat near the forward console, the glow of his multi-slate pale against his soot-marked face. Data streamed in fast bursts: thermal feeds, drone reports, structural scans. A priority ping was already open on his multi-slate. His expression did not change until one line blinked green.
He looked up. “We found them. The prisoners. Drones picked up heat signatures in the sublevel tunnels. They’re alive. Medics are already on site.”
A soft breath rippled through the cabin. Even Aviel’s rigid posture eased.
“Seems they were in more of a hurry than we thought,” Helianth said quietly. “They left the lower sector intact. Someone wanted this to end fast, not clean.”
Yure looked up. “You think Bekn called the detonation?”
Helianth shook his head. “No. Too calculated.”
Mirel stirred beneath the foil blanket. His voice was hoarse. “I know that building.” The words silenced the room. “Geron used to talk about it. Said it’s where the street dealers ran. Half the city bought their drugs there.”
