My chest and throat burn from my wheezing breath booming in my ears. But my hands—they’re ice cold. My shoulders heave as my fingers dig into my palms. They’re desperate for Max’s signal, but it doesn’t come.

My breath grows louder and high pitched as I scan the green darkness for Fuges. What I see instead makes me almost choke on the rotten air. It’s not the Fuges. It’s soldiers. Seven of them lower their weapons, obviously as confused as we are.

Quoleena Sbrocca