Pain had a funny way of clarifying things.
Seraph lay in the mud, staring at the smoke rising from where the train had just become a fireball, and realized her arm was bent in a way arms really shouldn't bend.
That seemed important.
Also important: the sound of engines in the distance. Getting closer.
"Anyone alive?" Her voice came out as a croak. She tried again. "Sound off."
"Here." Torres. Somewhere upslope. He sounded about as good as she felt, which was to say terrible.
"Kira?"
"Broken ankle. But I'm good." She paused. "I'm lying. I'm very not good."
"Draven?"
Silence.
Seraph's heart did something unpleasant in her chest. "Draven!"
She heard a groan. "Stop yelling. My head hurts."
She forced herself to sit up. Her arm screamed at her. She told it to shut up and deal with it.
