"Guilty." He bit into the twist, honey glistening on his lip. Still warm. Lira outdid herself.
The camera swung forward, revealing a marshy gulf ahead. Sickly green water burbled beneath broken bridge stumps. Damp heat fogged the lens edges, and ceiling vines swayed like sleepy vipers, droplets sliding from glossy leaves.
Mikhailis straightened, curiosity sparking. "He's gonna vault."
Elowen angled her head, eyes bright. "He'll pause to measure wind shear first."
On‑screen, Rodion paused. Optics narrowed—digital irises contracting. A cascade of data scrolled: WIND 3 kph ↘, VINE TENSILE RATING 78 %, WATER TOXICITY HIGH.
Scarab scouts zipped across the chasm. Each dropped a thumbnail‑sized beacon that embedded itself into root knots, pulsing soft blue. A dotted line formed—an improvised runway only Rodion could see.
