Page 124 of Burning Ice
Kylix frowned. “You’re sure?”
“Positive,” Mirel said. “Whoever ran that place, it wasn’t Attica.”
Helianth closed the slate. “Then Bekn wasn’t the one pulling the strings. He was working for someone bigger.” He leaned back, his voice soft with exhaustion. “We’ll dig later. For now, rest. You’ve earned it.”
The drop lights blinked from red to green. The cabin tilted as the ship descended. Metal strained once, then steadied.
Mirel lifted his head. The pressure in his ears changed. The hum of the engines grew lower, closer to ground. Cold air leaked through the vents, sharp after the heat. It smelled clean and bitter, like disinfectant and new steel.
Helianth stood first. He gave Vandor a short nod and moved toward the door. Vandor followed, hand near his weapon out of habit. Neither spoke.
Kylix was slower. He braced one hand on the seat, the other still on Mirel’s shoulder. The heat from his skin carried through the thin foil. “You can walk?”
Mirel nodded, though his legs still felt uncertain. He gathered the blanket around his shoulders and pushed himself up. His body felt heavy but solid.
When the ramp dropped, white light flooded the cabin. The wind from the base fans cut across his face, cold enough to sting. He squinted. The brightness hurt at first after so much fire.
Med techs waited at the bottom, with carts and stretchers. Voices called out numbers and instructions. The air smelled of coolant and ozone.
Mirel took the first step down. His knees buckled, but Kylix caught his elbow. The grip was firm, steady.
“Slow,” Kylix said.
“I’m fine.”
He wasn’t, but he didn’t want to let go.
Helianth’s voice carried back over the noise. “Get them both checked. No heroics.”
Kylix ignored him. He kept a hand on Mirel until they reached the floor.
The ground underfoot was solid. For the first time in hours, Mirel believed it would stay that way.
The words landed heavy but not hopeless. Around them, the hum of the craft felt like a heartbeat, steady and alive.
Kylix sat beside Mirel. He laid a hand on his shoulder, thumb tracing the edge of his collarbone. “You hear that? We’re done.”
Mirel’s lips curved faintly. “For now.”
Outside, the horizon burned gold through smoke. The ship banked toward the base, its engines carrying them into the rising light. Inside, warmth gathered, laughter fading to calm, blankets rustling, the quiet hum of a bond that refused to fade.
Fire and frost, side by side, watching the world begin again.
32
“And then the whole damn level just went,” Daven said, hands describing an explosion, voice still rough from smoke. “One second we had them pinned, next the walls were spitting fire. I had to run to get the others out.”
Moargan, half-sprawled over his stool, tipped his beer bottle lazily toward him. “Sure, sure. Real heroic. Especially the part where you carried Ryneth out like a bride.”
That set the room off. Even Cyprian, drawing across his lap, bit back a grin. Daven’s face flamed red, and he reached for a beer that wasn’t there yet. Vandor, still posted against the wall, opened the fridge with one arm and tossed him a bottle. “For your cheeks,” he said.
Mirel watched from the counter, knees drawn up, faint smile tugging at his mouth. Kylix leaned against the opposite doorway, amusement flickering in his eyes as they met Mirel’s for a brief second.
“So what does he look like, this Ryneth?” Moargan asked, mischief lighting his grin.
“Come on, you can’t just leave us guessing,” Cyprian added.
Daven groaned. “He looked half-dead, Moargan. What do you want from me?”
