Caleb's fingers slipped from Brock's shoulder strap. He tried to close them again, but his grip shook loose from the slick webbing. Rina caught the back of his jacket when his knee buckled.
"Leave him. Treadwell, let go."
She steadied Caleb on the gray growth at the edge of the pool. Brock lay several feet back from the runoff, where Caleb had dragged him. His chest had stopped moving, and acid clinging to the neon plates still ate through their fastenings.
Caleb stayed on his knees, reaching until Rina pushed his arm down. He had expected Brock to swear at him for dragging him through the mud. The melted faceplate lay open, and nothing moved behind it.
"He's gone," Rina said. She kept her rifle pointed past the body. "Kei, answer me."
"I'm here. My optics are down."
Kei crawled out from behind the fallen stalagmite. He wiped ash from his cracked visor and brought the rifle up again, aiming along the barrel toward the dark end of the lane.
