Elara stood at the edge of the ruptured fissure and studied the blackness where the Mimic had dropped. Her breathing came in heavy, ragged pulls. The high-frequency hum of her phase-blade died as she deactivated the weapon.
She turned away from the dark.
Kikaru remained on her knees in the freezing mud. The First Division prodigy held empty dirt in her palms, with grit packed under her fingernails and wet sludge seeping through the seams of her white armor.
Elara crossed the ruined ground. Her scarred leather jacket groaned at the joints, and exhaustion dragged her boots over broken ice. She bypassed a shattered transport crate and stepped around the severed arm the creature had abandoned in the dirt.
She knelt beside the younger recruit.
The public feed was still active. Tens of millions of viewers were watching them right now. Elara knew that and still made the choice to speak like a person before she spoke like command.
"I am sorry," Elara said.
