Chapter 22 · Overclocked Burn

"Get your damn arm out of my ribs!" Lyra hissed, her voice cracking through the blood in her throat.

Darek didn't let go. He had her pinned against a jagged piece of reinforced plating, the heat from the city-killing cannon humming through the floor like a dying god. The air tasted of ionized ozone and burnt rubber. Above them, the Titan’s shadow blotted out the smoggy sky, its massive chassis groaning as it shifted its weight.

"Shut up and breathe," Darek snapped. He leaned in, his chest pressing against hers, the metal of his prosthetic arm grinding against the debris. "If I let go, you slide right into that vent. And trust me, you don't want to know what's waiting at the bottom of a plasma drain."

Lyra glared up at him, her eyes sharp even through the grime. She tried to push him away, but her left arm was useless, hanging by a few shreds of tactical fabric. "I can walk. Just... give me a second."

"You've had your second," he said, his voice dropping an octave. He could feel her heart hammering against his ribs—fast, erratic, terrified. He didn't tell her his was doing the same.