Chapter 13
LEENA
The city appears slowly.
At first it’s just a distortion on the horizon, a break in the endless roll of dunes where the red glare of the twin suns catches on something sharper than sand.
I almost miss it, thinking it’s another trick of heat and distance, another mirage rising out of exhaustion and too many hours without rest.
Then the angle holds, and I slow without meaning to.
“That’s it,” I say, the words quieter than I expect. “That’s the city.”
I haven’t seen it myself, only know of it from the reports of those who discovered it. From the rumors that had been flying around my fellow survivors. My chest constricts at the sight of it.
It seems almost mythical, the way it rises as we move. Like it’s pulling itself out of the dunes in pieces instead of all at once. Blackened stone. Angled metal. Structures that don’t belong to the natural lines of Tajss, cutting against the landscape instead of blending into it.
The larger of the two suns presses down from above, bleeding everything into deep rust and shadow. The smaller one catches along the edges of the structures, turning broken walls into sharp lines of reflected light.
It should feel like relief.
We spent days preparing for this. Mapping routes.
Rationing supplies. Planning how to cross the worst of the terrain just to reach something solid.
Something that wasn’t constantly shifting beneath our feet.
A place where the wind couldn’t erase us.
A place that would have the feel of something permanent.
I take another step forward. Then another. And a sense of unease increases instead of fading.
Something isn’t right.
“It’s too… still,” I murmur. “We had people moving toward it. Supplies staged along the approach. There should be—”
Movement cuts my words off. It’s not in the city, but above it.
At first I think it’s the glare, the way the smaller sun fractures along the broken edges of the structures. Then one of the shapes shifts against the light, too clean, too controlled. Then there’s another, and another. My breath catches and a cold chill traces my spine.
“Don’t—” I start, not even sure what I’m about to say.
Multiple drones move high across the sky before the city, their paths intersecting in clean, deliberate lines. Not sweeping wide like before. Not searching open terrain. Focused. Layered.
They pass over the structures high enough that if I wasn’t looking for them I’d probably miss their presence. Moving in tight arcs with overlapping coverage, doubling back in patterns that leave no gaps between them.
My stomach drops.
“That’s not…” I shake my head, trying to force the thought into something that makes sense. “That’s not a sweep pattern.”
No answer, but I don’t need one because I can see it. They’re not looking for something that might be there. They’re watching something they expect to be.
“They’re concentrating on the area before the city,” I say.
That means… I look lower, scanning the dunes between us and the broken lines where stone meets sand. That’s when I see it. Movement.
Figures.
Small against the scale of the desert, partially obscured by drifting sand, but there, moving in coordinated lines across the dunes. Too controlled to be survivors. My pulse spikes.
“There’s ground movement,” I say, sharper now. “Not creatures. Organized.”
I take a step forward, angling for a better view, and his hand closes around my arm. I stop.
I widen my view instead of locking onto one point. And that’s when I see it. Off to the side. Partially hidden behind a rise of sand that blocks it from the city itself, but not from where we stand—a transport.
Low. Dark. Angular.
Set down in the shadow of the dune like it was placed there deliberately to avoid detection from the city itself. My breath catches.
“That wasn’t there before,” I whisper.
It couldn’t have been. We would have seen it. Known. Planned for it. This is new. Recent. Active.
The drones shift overhead, tightening their pattern, crossing paths directly above the outer edge of the city where the figures move below. None of this is random; they’re not searching; they’re containing.
“They’re not looking for us out here,” I say slowly, the shape of it forming as I speak. “They’re not sweeping the desert.”
My gaze tracks from the drones… to the figures… to the transport.
“They’re watching the city.”
The wind drags across the dunes, thin lines of sand lifting and falling in the red light. Nothing else moves. No signs of survivors. No signals. No life. He shifts at my side, away from the city. I hesitate.
The city holds me, those broken angles, the promise of walls that don’t shift, the idea of something solid after days of nothing but sand and heat and constant movement.
“We can’t just turn away,” I say, the words coming out sharper than I intend. “That’s the best cover we’ve seen since we left the valley. Stone, metal structures thick enough to block scans. If we get inside—”
“Trap.”
The word cuts me off. I turn toward him.
“That’s not a trap,” I push back. “That’s exactly what we’ve been trying to reach.
We planned for this. There are lower levels, reinforced sections—if the structures held, we could be underground in minutes.
They won’t be able to track us from above.
There are others there too. People who will help us. ”
“No. They are already there.”
His gaze doesn’t shift from the city.
“They’re not inside,” I counter, forcing logic through the tightening in my chest. “They’re circling it. Watching it. That means it’s not compromised yet. If it was, they wouldn’t be searching the perimeter—staying out of sight—they’d be inside, locking it down.”
No response. I step forward, angling toward the slope that would take us down into the approach.
“We don’t have anything better than that,” I continue. “Out here we’re exposed. You said it yourself. The air and ground patterns are aligning. We stay in open terrain, we get caught.”
I take another step. Then his hand closes around my arm, harder. I pull, testing it, but his grip is like iron, unyielding.
“Let go,” I say, keeping my voice controlled. “We don’t have time to debate this. That’s our best—”
“No.”
The word is sharper than before, but there’s no strain in it and no hesitation. I meet his gaze.
“Then explain it,” I push. “Because from where I’m standing, that’s the only place out here that gives us any chance at all.”
He doesn’t answer immediately, but his grip doesn’t loosen either. My pulse kicks up.
“Kaelreth—”
“Too many.” The words come low. Controlled. “Air. Ground. Structure.” Each word deliberate and measured. “Converge.”
I follow his line of sight back to the city, forcing myself to see what he’s seeing instead of what I want it to be. Drones crossing in tighter arcs. Figures moving in patterns that aren’t random. The transport, hidden just out of view from the city itself. Waiting.
“They’re focusing there,” I say slowly. “Which means if we move fast—”
“They expect that.”
The answer is immediate. I look back at the city. At the clean lines of the drones. At the way their paths overlap without leaving gaps. At the figures below, moving in ways that suggest coordination instead of chaos.
“They’re not trying to find survivors,” I say, the realization tightening into something solid. “They’re trying to catch them when they come in. Catch… you.”
“Yes.”
I exhale slowly, forcing my frustration down, forcing the part of me that wants to run toward those structures to stand still long enough to think. Because he’s not wrong. I just don’t want him to be right.
“That doesn’t mean we just stay out here,” I say, quieter, but no less firm. “If we keep moving in open terrain, we’re still exposed. If they’re expanding their pattern—”
“They are.”
“Then we need something that breaks it.”
He doesn’t respond verbally, but I feel a shift in him. A decision forming. He tightens his grip—sharp enough to make me catch my breath. Then he moves. Away from the city, pulling me with him.
A hard angle across the dune, cutting us off from the direct approach and driving us into rougher terrain where the sand breaks against scattered rock instead of flowing clean.
“Wait—”
I twist, trying to hold my ground.
“Kaelreth, that’s not—”
He doesn’t slow or even look back. The pull becomes force. Not enough to hurt, but enough to move me whether I agree or not. Frustration flares, hot, sharp, and immediate.
“That’s the only place out here that gives us cover,” I snap, stumbling once before catching my balance and matching his pace instead of fighting it. “You’re taking us deeper into open terrain, not out of it.”
“Not open,” he says over his shoulder.
I glance ahead. The dunes break unevenly, jagged outcroppings of rock cutting through the sand in narrow, irregular lines. Not a city. Not shelter in any real sense. But not nothing either.
“Less visible,” he adds.
I grit my teeth.
“That’s not the same thing as safe.”
“No.”
He doesn’t soften it. He’s stating facts.
I fall silent for a few steps, adjusting to the new direction, recalibrating my expectations the same way I’ve been forced to do with everything since he grabbed me out of the loading zone.
Because if I’ve come to understand anything about him, it’s that this is what he does. He doesn’t choose the best option. He chooses the one that keeps me alive. Even if it looks worse. Even if it feels wrong. Even if I hate it.
I glance back once at the city. At the structures that still look like salvation from a distance. At the drones crossing above them in perfect, controlled arcs. At the figures moving below like they already know exactly where anyone coming in would have to pass.
The transport disappears behind the dune, hidden from sight as if it was never there at all. The realization settles, heavy and undeniable.
That place isn’t safety. It’s a net.
I turn toward the harsher terrain. Toward the direction he chose, because right now he’s the only thing out here that isn’t lying to me.