Dany takes the ramp in two strides – her dash ending in a wild leap. She slams into the soldier’s chest, full on, and then her nails find his cheeks.
For one instant, Dany is clinging to the guard, raking his face with her nails – and in the next, her body hits the far wall of the truck.
She slides into a crumpled heap on the floor.
The blow comes a beat later, out of nowhere – hard and solid, to her head. And when she looks up, dazed, she is somehow balanced on her knees, and staring in wonder at the fireflies.
One blow with that mag cell light, bam, and there they are. Dozens of fireflies. Little living lights.
Dany, on her hands and knees, looks up at them. Tiny luminous beings, cavorting in the air of the cargo hold. Somehow, everything in the truck’s interior has a strange
