The muffled, heavy thud of a plasma detonation vibrated through the floorboards, vibrating straight up through the soles of Elias's boots.
He didn't turn around. He kept walking deeper into the High-Security Wing, putting distance between himself and the slaughter happening at the entrance. The heavy blue-iron net he had conjured to trap A-Block had drained the absolute last reserves of his stable core. His forearms ached with a deep, hollow burn, and his fractured ribs ground against his compression binder with every shallow breath.
Behind him, Kikaru was fighting a Federation Warden. Tidwell was bleeding out on the floor. Faye and Wes were pinned.
He had done that. He had pulled the trigger.
"You look like you're going to be sick, cook."
