The voice inside Elara's head didn't sound like a machine, and that made it a hundred times worse.
"Elara, stay with us!" Lucien's voice cut through the ringing in her ears. His hand was tight on her arm, holding her up as they pushed through the burning, ash-covered trees.
"I'm trying," she gasped, her hands flying to her temples.
Behind her cloudy left eye, a sharp, white-hot spike of pain jabbed directly into her brain. The Harvester was three miles away, standing atop the giant drill-ship, but the mental link created by the Swarm data was wide open. The entity's cold, smooth voice echoed inside her skull, chuckling like an old friend enjoying a cruel joke.
'You cannot run from your own blood, little key,' the voice whispered into her thoughts. 'Every step you take brings the harvest closer.'
Elara stumbled, her boots catching on a thick, charred root. She almost went down, but Lucien caught her under the arms, hauling her back to her feet before she hit the ash.
