I sit in the sand with my back against Rhayne's hands. She feeds me Scales one at a time, pressing each one against my lips with the patience of a bird nurturing a hatchling back to health.
I chew. Swallow. Chew.
The OXI drips back in, slow, like filling a cracked bucket.
My body weighs twice what it should. The blood loss from the shoulder, the OXI drain from Eventide, the accumulated damage of fighting—it all compounds into a heaviness that sits on my bones like wet concrete.
The battlefield is dying.
Not the violent, screaming death of the Red Tide's charge.
The quiet kind.
Small clusters of soldiers surrounding the last beasts that refused to retreat.
Phase Two didn't end with a recall. These ones fought until the sand swallowed them.
"Oliver." My voice comes out thinner than I want. "Guard that Stalker carcass. It's ours. Collect everything once your OXI recovers."
Oliver takes a long pull from his canteen, wipes his mouth, and nods. "You got it, boss."
Boss.
