Mara sat against a tree, her back to me. Blood covered her shoulder blades, but the wounds were already closing—two slits in the skin that were knitting themselves shut, leaving faint scars that looked like birthmarks shaped like wings.
Elara stared. "That's impossible."
Mara looked at her. "You said that too many times today."
Elara ignored the comment, moving closer to examine the wounds with trembling hands. "The wings weren't complete. They were emergency structures. Proto-wings. Made of the same adaptive matter as the rest of the syndrome."
I looked at Mara. "What happens next?"
Elara hesitated. "Her body will try again. The next time, they'll be more developed. More functional. More... permanent."
"And?"
"It will become easier. Less painful. More natural. Eventually, she may not be able to stop them from emerging."
Mara looked at the sky. A bird circled above us, distant, silent. She followed it with her eyes. "That's not a bird."
I looked up. It was too far away, just a speck against the gray.
Mara could see it clearly. "There's something attached to its leg. Metal. A tracking device. Rainbow uses them to follow the flock."
Elara's face went pale. "What?"
"A tracking device." Mara's voice was flat, resigned.
"Rainbow uses the birds to map the wilderness. To find settlements. To find people like us."
I stood. "They found us."
Mara looked toward the horizon. "How long?"
Elara checked her watch. "Ten minutes. Maybe less. If the bird already reported our position..."
I pulled my gloves tighter. "Then we have nine."