Chapter 9 · Marked for Retrieval

The core's still warm in Cole's pocket when the first drone drops through the canopy.

He sees it before he hears it—black composite hull, no running lights, the kind of gear that doesn't show up on civilian scans. It hovers thirty meters out, camera pod rotating toward the clinic entrance.

"Cole." Ivy's voice is tight. She's two steps behind him, hand on her sidearm. "What is that?"

"Retrieval team." He doesn't slow down. The tree line's another hundred meters and the clinic's got maybe two minutes before the drone calls in coordinates. "They're here for me."

"Then why are you running toward me?"

Because you die at dusk if I don't get you out of the clinic before the second wave hits. Because I've watched you bleed out on those tiles eighty-two times and I'm not doing it again.

He doesn't say any of that. "You're tagged as a key. They won't let you walk."

Ivy's jaw tightens. She pulls the gun. "Stop."

Cole stops.

The drone's still hovering. It hasn't fired, hasn't called backup. Just watching.

"How do you know where I fall?" Ivy's voice is steady but her hand isn't. The muzzle's aimed at his chest.