Amara bolted. Her feet hit water, mud flying. The hillside exploded in flames. Rock and metal screamed. Underground miners’ tunnels yawned ahead. She dove in.
The sky over the Volta Highlands pulsed with green twilight. Amara Thorne crouched behind jagged basalt, her black gown soaked, mud streaked across her forearms. Ring drones hovered above, spinning like halos of judgment.
Crash. Sparks. A courier drone spiraled into the river below, circuits exploding in orange fire.
She grabbed the flickering data fragment before it sank. Her pulse slammed against her ribs.