RONAN Something began to scrape at the back of my thoughts. The hair along my neck lifted, warning me before my mind fully understood why. My pulse sped up. The bruise on my forehead started to pound, as if it already knew the truth and was waiting for me to catch up. I touched it gently, then forced myself to look down the long rows of bodies again. Everything in this place had been done with cold precision. Every movement, every placement, every cut. That realization pressed down on me hard. Time mattered. I needed to move faster. I threw myself back into the horrible work without hesitation. In this section, the bodies ended with the victims’ heads stacked together in the second pile. Someone had carved a narrow passage through them, a deliberate lane that allowed fast movement to the far left side of the hall and easy access to the other rows. I followed that path, once more surrounded on both sides by the dead. My eyes scanned every face. I searched for anything familiar, anything my system might flag for me. When it found nothing, I kept moving. Step by step. Pile by pile. I was deep into the third section when something caught my eye. Not a face. Not at first. It was a strip of purple cloth. The scarf. She had loved that scarf. My body reacted before my thoughts did. I dropped to my knees. She was second in the pile. My fingers closed around the frilled edge of the fabric, and I pulled it back slowly, already knowing what I would see. My mother stared back at me. Her eyes were open, fixed on nothing, reaching into a distance she would never return from. Everything else vanished. The world shrank until there was only her face, floating in darkness. My breathing thundered inside my head. My heart slammed against my ribs so hard it hurt, a deep, crushing pain that swallowed every other sensation. Every wound I had ever taken, every loss I had survived, every fear I had faced meant nothing next to this. They were nothing more than foam on the surface of an endless sea of grief. My knees hit the floor fully. Tears poured down my face as I reached for her. My left hand cradled her cheek. My right fingers brushed her forehead. My grip tightened around the pistol without me realizing it. “Ma,” I whispered. My throat felt locked, barely able to form the word. I wanted to tell her everything. How sorry I was for failing her. For not saving her. For choosing work over time with her. For the fights with Dad that dragged her into the middle. For every day I forgot to say I loved her. None of it came out. I ripped my helmet off and leaned forward until my forehead rested against her cold skin. The floor creaked. My body moved before my mind understood why. I threw myself sideways, slamming into the ground and rolling onto my back. It all happened in a blur, driven by instinct alone. When my eyes focused, the truth hit hard. The drone stood where I had been. Its hands had just clapped together inches from my mother’s face, striking the space my head had occupied moments earlier. The faceplate snapped toward me, locking on.It was already shifting. I raised the pistol, aimed at the center of its chest, and fired. The shot hit. The machine lurched backward as the bullet punched through its outer shell and flattened against something solid inside. The force stopped it for a split second. Then it stepped forward again. I pulled the trigger again and again. I emptied the weapon without pause, without thought. Each shot echoed until there was nothing left but the hollow click of an empty gun. The drone froze. Smoke drifted up from its torso, rising from every impact point. Its limbs twitched in short, broken movements. The visor never left me, even as I stood and shifted to the side. It was still alive. Still watching. The gunfire had damaged something inside, but not enough.Its left leg suddenly surged forward. The machine almost crossed the distance between us, then jerked to a violent stop. The right leg refused to move. Both arms stayed locked in place. I stared at it, breathing hard, my mind racing. Fascination cut through the pain for just a moment. If I could disable it without destroying it, I might learn who built these things. And when I found them, I would make sure they felt exactly what I was feeling now.