72: Brice
Brice
The Proteus still rested in the small clearing by the rock wall, branches and leaves overhead, black mouth of the cave behind it. But they’d stripped the thing. Panels lay on the ground, dented, buckled, scratched. Some had been cut—oxy-torch burn-marks around the edges, the lines ragged. Cabling hung loose, much of it ripped to shreds. Booster casings lay discarded, inner workings mangled.
And inside wasn’t much better. Every storage unit overturned, bunks trashed, padding ripped open. Even the shower room was destroyed.
There was no sign of anyone nearby. All the traces were days old. As soon as they’d captured him, Ryann and Piran, they’d wrecked the craft.
Deva and Keelin? Their traces went to the cliff, and Brice considered taking the same route. But he’d be too
