They arrived on the breath between a scream and the echo of it.
Snow lay wrecked into trenches and slips. Lamps jammed into the drift bled their tired light over a smear of red and a pile of tools that had stopped pretending to be weapons. A handful of miners and three Gravers clung to a low line of rock like a shoreline, beating the next wave back with shovel, pick, and anger.
Raizen's hand cut once through the air. The coin landed on its edge and stayed there.
He didn't even need to say "Positions."
