Chapter 20 · The Trap: Neon Abyss

"Step any closer and I’ll blow your damn legs off," Sloane snapped, her voice echoing against the rusted metal of the catwalk.

She didn’t look at me. Her eyes were locked on the shimmering, oil-slicked pit below—the Neon Abyss. Down there, the same sludge that powered the lower slums had mutated into something that breathed, hunted, and occasionally screamed.

I shifted my weight, my boots scraping against the grate. The sound felt like a dinner bell. "We don't have time to play soldier, Sloane. The High Spires are closing in. If we don't cross the pit now, we're just two more corpses for the scrap-rats."

Sloane finally turned, the harsh blue light of the abyss catching the sharp edge of her jaw. She stepped into my space, her chest nearly brushing mine. The heat coming off her was the only thing keeping the damp chill of the slums from freezing my marrow. She didn't move her gun, but she leaned in until I could smell the metallic tang of ozone and the faint, sharp scent of her citrus perfume.

"You think I don't know that?" she whispered, her breath hot against my ear. "I'm the one keeping us alive.