The silence after the drone's destruction was profound. The shriek of tearing metal and the fizzle of dying electronics were swallowed by the immense, living quiet of the ancient forest. For a long moment, the only sound was the frantic hammering of Elian's own heart. The scent of ozone and scorched polymer hung in the air, a foul, technological stench in the midst of loam and life.
Corvin was on his knees, his good hand pressed against the mossy ground, his body trembling not with exertion, but with revulsion. He was breathing in ragged gasps, as if he could purge the violent act from his lungs. The destructive note he'd struck had been small, precise—a surgeon's scalpel, not a sledgehammer—but it had been a note of pure unmaking all the same.
Mara was already moving, her face a grim mask. She nudged the smoldering wreckage with her boot. "We need to go. Now. That wasn't just a scout. It was a relay. Its death scream will have painted a target on this entire quadrant."
