The single point of silver light above did not flare, flicker, or explode into a brilliant beam. It simply hovered beneath the transport ship's keel, impossibly sharp, like a needle poking through a black curtain.
Kyle did not take his eyes off it. His gauntlet continued its restless, liquid shifting against his forearm, the dark metal rippling in small, rhythmic waves that matched the thrumming in his pulse.
"We move," Kyle said. His voice was low, devoid of panic, but carried a flat certainty that made both women snap their attention away from the sky. "Now. Back toward the ridge."
Yua didn't argue. She slipped off the bronze casing of the destroyed probe, her body dropping low to skim the seabed. "You feel it too, don't you? That isn't mana. It feels... dry. Like staring into a salt flat."
