Rafian smiled, a rare and crooked thing. “Objection logged. Now patch me through to the surface telemetry.”
“The inbound storm will reach the Scar in four hours,” she continued. “If you are planning another dive, I must log a formal objection.” rafian at the edge 50
“Rafian,” a voice crackled from the console behind him. It was soft, synthesized, and patient. “Your cortisol levels are elevated. You haven’t slept in thirty-one hours.” Rafian smiled, a rare and crooked thing
He was tired of running.
Rafian stood on the observation blister, his scarred face reflected in the thick polycarbonate. Beyond the glass, the Scar stretched into blackness, its walls glinting with veins of frozen ammonia. This was the edge. Fall here, and you’d tumble for three minutes before the pressure crushed you into diamond. “If you are planning another dive, I must
“It almost certainly is.”
Someone was alive down there.