The cave wasn't much.
Just a hollow in the cliffside left behind by some ancient water flow—barely wide enough for three people to huddle without brushing elbows, and shallow enough that a determined crawler could sniff them out if it bothered to.
But it was shelter.
After everything, that was enough.
Bright Morgan slumped against the cold rock, breath ragged, muscles molten with exhaustion. His ribs ached. His eyes burned. Every inch of him screamed for rest, for oblivion, for even a heartbeat of stillness.
He didn't get it.
Not truly.
Because silence let the memories come back.
Larkin's corpse.
The stolen cores.
Estovia's contempt.
Baggen's strained breathing.
Hailen's blood spilling through his fingers.
The Covenant infiltrators watching from the shadows.
Bright clenched his fists until the knuckles cracked.
He wasn't shaking from exhaustion.
He was shaking from thought.
From the realization of how close he had come to losing everything again.
