Forty-nine
The deep, constant throbbing across Keelin’s head brought its own kind of clarity.
It was pain, but she’d known pain before. She’d lost her Proteus—something that only a true pilot would understand. She’d been thrown into a nightmare that had made her an outcast in Haven, even if it was an outcast by her own design. She’d watched people die. And now, she’d killed friends.
But pain was nothing more than synapses firing in her brain, and pulses travelling along myelin sheaths. It was all chemistry and electricity.
And when Ryann dipped down, when Keelin felt her fingers slip from that shoulder, she felt a moment of jubilation. She felt the urge to shout out in joy.
Ryann sprang forward. It happened fast, but Keelin analysed the movement, saw how she must have planned this,
