Eyes slit. “Sure.” West walked down the corridor. “But make it fast.”

Benton sagged against the wall. “What is it?”

“We’re at ninety-eight over. Sixty/forty lock. You know you don’t have to come in with us.”

Starlight in eyelight. “Are you saying you don’t need me?”

“It’s just—”

“Afraid of what you’ll find in there?”

“No.” He sighed. “But if we—”

“Paul.” Hand to shoulder. “I’ve seen it all before. You don’t scare me.”

“You should be scared.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“You will be.”

“I won’t.”

“Fighting with you is useless.”

“You wrote me.” Lips upturned.

“And you,” lips to cheek, “have no idea.”

Screaming.

Agony of broken bone within the face. He snuffled back blood, choked on copper, spat. Eyes slicked shut with

He ground earth from his vision, blinked. Sitting up from the mud and shit and snow, he pried his arms from the impact mark, rolled to free his legs. His helmet was gone. He heard the stutter and stammer of his cardiac shield attempting to lock on to

West at his side, face gouged by

“This isn’t good.”

“Hope?”

She crawled through the trench towards her partners. “Lock’s splintered.”

“Yeah.”

Stutter.

“Shit. Let me see that.”

Chest heaving, breath a whisper, the author rolled to his back. Benton checked the readings on his shield. “Okay, it’s stabilizing.”

“Where are we?” West held his riflescope to a silver eye.

“Over/under target, that’s for sure.”

“Okay.” He patted Paul’s cheek. “Can you move?”

“Yeah. Just a little headache.”

“Nose’s broken. Maybe your cheekbone. You’ll be fine.”

“I’m placing a beacon in the Stream. Should be able to lock in a few.”

“Good. Let’s head toward the ridge.”

Lights flickered in the valley around the lake.

Their landing in this time had been particularly rough. West now saw the probable cause of the temporal disruptions in the worldline.