The sky burst open like tissue-thin glass.
The first drone squadron cut through the clouds in a clean V formation, black triangles against a shimmering horizon. No engine roar, just that creeping whistle you felt more in your teeth than in your ears. Rhea was already standing, rifle against her shoulder, gaze nailed to the scope. Alaric yanked Lina from the open field back into the shadow of the concrete overhang.
"Take cover!"
The drones tilted, as if they had momentarily forgotten gravity, and then they spat light. Not bullets, but threads—fine, brilliant lines that wove themselves into nets. Where they struck, concrete burned, grass chirped and died.
Lina felt the humming like a second skin, one that didn't belong to her. The Heart Code pulsed quietly beneath her scars. A foreign breathing in her chest cavity. It called, just as Rhea had said. A call without sound, but with direction.
