Elias raised the iron hacksaw toward the ceiling grate.
The second his right arm extended past his shoulder, his fractured ribs ground together. A hot, tearing sensation spiked through his side, stealing the air straight from his lungs. His knees buckled, the heavy Level 2 construct slipping in his sweaty grip.
A calloused hand clamped over his wrist.
Tidwell took the weight of the saw. The older recruit's cloud Ikona curled restlessly around his neck.
"Give me the tool, Kael," Tidwell grunted. "You try to cut through half-inch steel in that condition, you'll pass out before you make a dent."
Elias released his grip, leaning his uninjured shoulder against the cool metal wall.
"Friction is going to screech," Tidwell warned, stepping directly under the grate. "Those rogues might be fighting the Wardens, but sound travels through these vents. They'll hear us."
