Harper
Word travels fast in a place with nothing to do.
By the time the transport rolled through Camp 07's east gate, half the mess hall had relocated to the vehicle bay.
Guides and Sentinels lined the walkway three deep, craning necks, trading rumors that had mutated through six retellings in the hour since Fenn's distress call hit the comms.
I caught fragments as the door opened. Fourteen Rogues. Twenty. Somebody lost an arm. The D-class got eaten.
The D-class had not, in fact, been eaten. The D-class climbed out of the transport on legs that worked and a vest still holding three sealed biohazard cases, and the crowd went noticeably quiet.
Medics swarmed Harlow first. He waved them off with his good arm, then relented when Suri put a hand on his shoulder and steered him toward the
