Elara stood at the edge of the ruptured fissure.
She stared down into 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 stared at the empty dirt in her palms. Grit packed tight under her fingernails. The freezing wet sludge seeped through her white armor.
Elara crossed the ruined ground. The commander's scarred leather jacket groaned at the joints. Exhaustion dragged her boots over the broken ice. She bypassed a shattered transport crate and stepped around the severed arm the creature had abandoned in the dirt.
She knelt in the sludge beside the younger recruit.
She knew the public feed was still active. She knew tens of millions of viewers were watching them right now. She still made the choice to speak.
"I am sorry," Elara said.
