The blizzard was blinding. The wind howled like a banshee, whipping snow into our faces as we crested the ridge.
Rook carried Cassian over his shoulder, his boots crunching in the deep snow. I walked behind him, keeping one hand on Cassian's back to steady him, my other hand gripping the pistol.
"Two minutes!" Clara shouted over the wind, checking the stolen tablet. "The extraction craft is on final approach."
"Get down!" Rook dropped to one knee behind a snowbank, lowering Cassian gently to the ground.
We huddled together, shivering. Cassian was barely conscious. His skin was gray, his lips blue.
Thwup. Thwup. Thwup.
Twin lights cut through the snow. A sleek, black military-grade helicopter descended from the clouds. It didn't look like a rescue bird; it looked like a predator.
It hovered for a moment, blowing snow everywhere, before settling onto the flat rock of the ridge.
The side door slid open. A pilot in a flight helmet leaned out, looking for his mercenary team.
