Chapter 22 · Harpoon the Sun

"Cut the feed, Cassian!" Lyra shouted as the ironclad lurched hard enough to throw her across the control deck.

Cassian caught the back of her coat before her skull met the valve housing. The impact still drove a grunt out of her. Her blistered palm slapped against his chest, hot even through his soaked uniform.

"If I cut it, you stop breathing," he said.

"If you don't, the cartel turns us into scrap. Pick one."

The hull screamed around them.

A cable had locked onto the stern and dragged the ship upward through the black water. Metal shrieked. Bolts jumped in their sockets. Somewhere below, Brant was yelling at the engines, but the words came through the speaking tube as broken bursts of static.

"Captain!" Brant's voice cracked. "The ram's got our rear brace! It's hauling us straight into the shredder fins!"

Lyra shoved away from Cassian and crawled toward the navigation pit. Her white cane was gone. She didn't need it. One hand skimmed the deck. The other pressed against her ribs, searching for the vibration only she could feel.

"How high?" Cassian demanded.

"Thirty meters above the trench floor," Brant answered. "Maybe less."

"That isn't high.