The world was screaming.
It was a digital scream—one that only I could hear.
I sat on the jagged edge of the Prometheus's shattered shoulder, my legs dangling over a drop that would have killed the man I was three weeks ago. My skin felt tight, buzzing with residual static that made the hairs on my arms stand straight up. Every breath tasted like ozone and burnt tungsten—the flavor of a near-miss with a god.
Behind me, the Titan was a wreck of smoking metal—a skeletal giant kneeling in a crater of its own making. But it was a wreck that refused to die. The metal groaned as it cooled, sounding like the heavy breathing of a wounded beast catching its breath.
"Elias, get down from there before a secondary discharge fries your brain!"
Sarah shouted from the cockpit hatch. She looked exhausted, her lab coat torn and smeared with black soot. But her eyes were sharp. sharp as ever.
