Dican left the buried store behind reluctantly, casting glances over his shoulder every few steps. He didn't like leaving Bian alone—not for a second. There was a strange hollowness in his chest now that they were apart, a tether being pulled too taut.
But Bian had asked for a spacecraft. And Dican would do anything for him.
Even if it meant walking away.
He clenched his jaw as he moved quickly over the rubble-strewn street. Most of the city was still crumbling from the last series of Grayling attacks. The sky above was thick with smoke and low-hanging clouds. He winced as he put weight on his wounded leg, pain flashing up through his thigh.
His communications gear—his Farian comms—had been destroyed in that blast. Right now, he had nothing but a scratched-up Earth-made phone he'd borrowed.
He pulled the phone from his pocket and dialed the only contact he had memorized.
Xing Yu.
The phone rang. And rang.
And kept ringing.
