RONAN I knew fear was the right reaction, but my life lately had scraped me hollow. All I could find inside was a low, constant irritation. I held it down. I showed my open hands, palms facing the sky. “I already figured out you’re 82nd Airborne. Your home base is in Cinder State. You were likely sent north to defend the capital. The fact you’re moving south tells me you’re a reconnaissance team going back to your main force. Your headquarters must be between my position and my destination. “I helped you because I need help in return. I mean no harm. I accessed your comms using proper codes. Your patrol isn’t special. I could have contacted any army unit in the area the same way, without ever stepping into the light. “I am trying to help. You are getting in the way of that.” Three figures emerged from behind the shell of a compact cruiser. Two soldiers supported a third between them, the injured man’s arms draped over their shoulders. They hauled him toward their leader. “Sergeant, O’Brien needs medical attention now.” The sergeant’s gaze was a physical weight, pressing into me. He studied my face for one endless moment. Then I saw his decision happen. The hard lines beside his eyes relaxed. The barrel of his rifle dipped by a careful inch. “Step out of the vehicle.” Exasperation, hot and sudden, flooded my veins. My hands came up in a helpless motion, my teeth grinding tight. “Are you serious right now?” His rifle lowered completely, its muzzle touching the broken pavement. A faint, tired smirk touched his lips. “O’Brien needs the transport. We cannot carry him to our command post. We would be a perfect target for miles.”“Oh,” I said, the understanding a dull thud in my chest. I gave a slow nod. “That makes sense.” I began to move from under the bike’s protective canopy but caught myself. “Is there a chance I can use a helmet? The cameras in the street lamps might be active. I’ve been tagged by facial recognition once already. I can’t risk it again.” The sergeant gave a sharp nod. He moved behind the husk of a utility rover, returning a moment later. In one hand he held a helmet. In the other, a dirty rag wiped at its surface. He passed it to me. My fingers brushed over the dark, flaking stain of blood on the composite shell. After a brief pause, I settled it onto my head, tightened the strap, and pulled the ballistic glasses down. The world took on a tinted shade, and most of my face vanished behind the gear.The four soldiers watched this transformation. The wounded man, O’Brien, lifted his head with visible effort. His voice was a rasp of pain and pride. “You treat that with respect.” My eyes moved over each of them. Weariness was a mask stretched tight over their features, a profound exhaustion living deep in their stares. I nodded once, a short, firm gesture. I knew exactly why he had spoken. I understood what the gift of an available helmet truly meant. “What was his name?” “Rodriguez,” the sergeant replied, his voice flat. I thanked them and climbed out of the bike. A silent wireless command made the seat reshape itself, flattening into a stretcher for the wounded soldier. The opposite door whispered open, allowing the men to approach from both sides to lift their friend with care. As they moved to do so, I delivered the bad news. “She’s only got about fifteen minutes of charge remaining.” They froze. The sergeant opened his mouth, a protest forming, but I continued. “My parents’ house is not too far from here. The Ashcroft Estate. They have two vehicles and a full battery backup system. We can use it to recharge the bike, even if the cars are dead.” “Alright,” the sergeant said, the word heavy with resigned acceptance. “Sounds like as good a place to stop as any.” He jerked his chin toward the bike. His men moved with practiced efficiency, carefully lifting O’Brien onto the flat seat. I watched, struck by the soldier’s silence. He didn’t make a sound, even as his blistered, red face contorted with the movement. “Jackson, you have point. Ackerman, secure our rear. Our traveling companion and I will flank the bike,” Sergeant Nguyen ordered.The two soldiers immediately moved out, putting yards of distance in front and behind our small procession. Above us, a swift shadow cut through the orange sunset. A drone zipped past, a silent guardian under the sergeant’s control. The soldier in charge looked at me and motioned forward with his hand. “After you,” he said, his tone leaving no room for debate. I sent the command. The bike hummed softly, its systems locking onto Jackson’s position. It began to roll, following him as he picked a path through the grim maze of shattered metal and silent vehicles. We moved with a slow, deliberate rhythm, navigating the graveyard of machinery. Step by step, we cleared the worst of the congestion. The path ahead opened, leading us toward Hawthorne Ridge, toward the Ashcroft Estate, toward whatever awaited us at my parents’ home.