Chapter 13 · Under Two Burning Moons

Marcus woke up choking on sand.

Not regular sand. This stuff burned. It coated his tongue, filled his nose, scraped down his throat every time he tried to breathe. He rolled onto his side and spat, again and again, until he could pull in air without feeling like his lungs were being filed down from the inside.

The sky above him was wrong. Two moons hung there, both the color of hot coals, close enough that he could see the craters. They didn't move. They just burned, casting everything in this sick orange light that made the sand look like it was still on fire.

He pushed himself up. His hands sank into the sand up to his wrists. Hot. Not hot enough to blister, but close. He could feel the heat through his jeans, through his shirt, like the whole desert was a griddle set to medium.

The needle was still in his hand.

Ayla's needle. The one she'd pressed into his palm right before Cassian's blade punched through his ribs. It was warm now, warmer than the sand, and it was humming. Not a sound. A feeling.