The skiff rattled so hard Elias felt it in his teeth.
He crouched near the tailgate with the medical bag between his knees and an ammunition crate under one hand. Two soldiers pressed against him on either side. Both smelled of smoke, old broth, and fear they were trying to turn into anger.
Wind tore through the open cargo bed. It shoved grit into Elias's eyes and made every bump in the anti-grav engine travel straight into his ribs. He kept his head low and his forearms over the bag.
Dots stayed quiet under his collarbone.
That was good. There were too many eyes in the skiff, too many people desperate for a reason to prove they belonged.
"Touchdown comes in thirty seconds, so brace your bags!" Sylira shouted over the engine.
She stood near the front rail, one hand hooked through a strap while her wire Ikona wrapped the metal beside her. The skiff bucked again. Sylira rode it without shifting her feet.
Elias looked past her shoulder.
