18. Jax
JAX
T he desert teaches you how to listen.
Not with your ears—those lie too easily—but with your skin, your teeth, the hollow place behind your ribs where instinct lives. Out here, the land talks first. You just have to be smart enough not to interrupt it.
I walk point because nobody argues when I do. My rifle rests easy in my hands, barrel angled down just enough to look nonthreatening to rocks that might turn hostile anyway. The ground crunches under my boots—salt crust cracking like thin ice over rot.
Behind me, Sophie and Ragon move.
Together.
Not close enough to touch. Not far enough to pretend they’re independent.
I hear them murmuring—low, efficient, words clipped down to function.
“If we angle west here,” Sophie says, tapping the map projected faintly from her compad, “the terrain funnels movement. Less exposure.”
Ragon hums. “But it’ll force us high. Silhouettes us against the sun.”
“Only for twelve minutes,” she replies. “After that the ridge bends.”
“Twelve minutes is enough time to die,” I mutter.
Sophie looks up at me. “You got a better idea?”
I pause. Scan the horizon. Heat shimmer warps the distance, turning rock into ghosts. Wind slides over the flats, carrying dust and something else—faint, wrong.
“No,” I say. “Just making sure you’re accounting for it.”
Ragon nods like that’s a satisfactory answer. Like he trusts her math.
That’s the part that digs under my armor.
They stop at the same time without signaling. Sophie crouches, Ragon mirroring her movement instinctively, already reading what she sees.
I don’t turn around. I don’t need to.
“You see it too?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Sophie says. “Dust. Far.”
I raise my optics. Three plumes now, spreading wide, movement disciplined. Not wandering. Not hunting randomly.
“They’re not scouts,” I say. “They’re sweepers.”
Ragon’s voice stays even. “Dzu?”
“Forward patrols,” I confirm. “He’s closing his fingers.”
Sophie exhales slowly. “So we’re already late.”
“No,” I say. “We’re just not early.”
A horn sounds—low, distant, rolling across the flats like thunder that forgot how to rise.
Sophie flinches. “That’s… not a normal signal.”
“No,” I agree. “That’s coordination.”
Ragon studies the terrain ahead, eyes narrowing. “They’re pushing us.”
“Toward that canyon,” Sophie says quietly.
I nod. “And they know it.”
The canyon mouth looms ahead—narrow, jagged, walls pinching together like teeth. Shade pools inside it, dark and inviting and full of bad decisions.
Sophie looks at me. “We don’t have time to reroute.”
“No,” I say. “Which means we make it hurt if they follow.”
We move.
The canyon swallows sound the second we step inside. The heat shifts, bouncing back off stone, thick and oppressive. Sweat trickles down my spine, pooling under armor. The air smells like baked mineral and old storms.
Boots scrape behind us.
I don’t slow.
“Contact rear,” I say calmly.
The first shots crack the air before the words finish leaving my mouth.
I spin, fire, drop a man mid-stride. His body hits stone hard, the sound echoing sharp and final.
More pour in—too many.
“Left!” Sophie shouts.
“I’ve got it,” I say, already moving.
Rounds slam into the canyon walls, sending stone chips spraying. One clips my shoulder, punches through armor padding, burns like hell. I grunt and keep going.
A man charges with a blade, eyes wild.
I step inside his swing, slam my rifle butt into his jaw, feel bone give. He goes down. I don’t watch him fall.
“Jax!” Sophie yells. “Thirty seconds!”
“Make it twenty!” I bark.
I draw their fire on purpose. Step into the open, make myself obvious. Stupid. Effective.
Rounds hammer my chestplate. My lungs rattle. Pain spikes bright and loud. I welcome it. Pain means I’m still standing.
Something hits my leg—hard. I stagger, catch myself on stone.
Hands grab me from the side. Two of them. Maybe three.
“Got you!” someone snarls.
Then the pressure disappears.
Gunfire erupts behind them—short bursts, controlled, deadly.
Ragon.
He moves like he knows exactly where they’ll be before they do. One drops. Another spins, screaming, and Ragon’s blade flashes once, clean and efficient.
Too efficient.
“Clear!” he snaps.
Sophie’s voice cuts through the chaos. “Now!”
The ridge above us detonates.
Stone collapses in a roaring cascade, dust choking the air, sunlight vanishing in a cloud of debris. The patrol scatters, shouting, losing formation.
“Go!” I shout.
We run.
The canyon shakes behind us, horns blaring again, farther now. We don’t stop until the ground opens up and the wind returns, hot and steady.
I bend forward, hands on my knees, dragging air into burning lungs.
Sophie’s already at my side. “Sit.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“Still fine.”
She presses a hand to my chestplate anyway, eyes sharp, checking damage. Her touch is firm, professional, grounding.
Ragon watches from a step back, scanning the horizon like the fight never really ended.
“You should’ve gone down,” I mutter at him.
He raises a brow. “Excuse me?”
“You flanked like you knew exactly where they’d be.”
He shrugs. “Experience.”
I straighten slowly. “That wasn’t experience. That was timing.”
Sophie looks between us. “What are you talking about?”
“Nothing,” Ragon says.
I laugh, short and humorless. “You think I didn’t see that signal?”
His eyes flick, just for a second.
Enough.
“What signal?” Sophie asks.
Ragon’s jaw tightens. “We need to move.”
“No,” I say flatly. “We need answers.”
“Later,” he replies.
“Now.”
The wind carries a faint echo—movement, distant. Not immediate, but coming.
Sophie steps between us again. “Both of you—stop.”
She looks at Ragon. “Did you signal someone?”
He hesitates.
That’s all the answer I need.
“We move,” I say finally, voice cold. “But this conversation isn’t over.”
Ragon inclines his head. “Fair.”
As we walk, I watch him differently. The way his eyes track the land. The way the desert seems to recognize him.
This isn’t charm.
This is network.
Whatever game he’s playing, it’s bigger than Sophie.
And I don’t intend to let it cost her everything.
The citadel waits ahead.
And so do the lies.