One of the soldiers at the edge of the formation flinched visibly. "That's not— you can't—"
"How do you know that?" the leader cut in, sharper now. His rifle steadied. "What happened down there?"
Sera tipped her head, considering. "He tried to study something he didn't understand. The machine he used broke itself trying to explain it to him. Then everything else followed."
"That's not an answer," the leader snapped.
"It's the only one that matters," she replied.
They didn't understand that yet, but they would.
A small movement caught Zubair's eye. In the building behind the soldiers, a curtain shifted. A narrow face pressed to the glass, breath fogging a tiny circle onto the pane. A child. Too small to be anything else. Too frightened to move away.
His flame dulled for half a heartbeat. He'd grown up in a world where children died early, but it never stopped digging under his ribs when he saw ones who were still trying not to.
