The wrist module was the first thing he saw.
It sat on the nightstand where he'd left it, screen dimmed to standby. The number behind the yellow square at the corner had moved overnight. Not by much. Enough.
Caleb sat up.
The barracks was cold the way the barracks was always cold. Iharu's bunk was empty, blanket twisted, boots gone. Hiro's was made. Rina's held its folded-sheet silence against the far wall. Caleb pulled on his shirt, and the heat in his lower ribs answered at the same time, the kind of heat that had stopped pretending to be nothing. The spirals warmed under his palm. He held them until his own pulse faded beneath the pressure.
His wrist buzzed.
[TALI: Get down here.]
He pulled his boots on without answering.
