Morning manifested as a smudge of dirty light above Errol. Light was perhaps too strong a word, but the oppression of the Bridge seemed more manageable. Errol stretched the kinks out from his limbs and yawned. According to the old map Grimhilt had given them, he estimated at least another two days of walking to reach the command tower in the center of the Bridge, where they were fairly certain the darkstorm surrounding the Stormorb had taken up residence, but that was an optimistic timeline didn’t take any further obstacles into account. Who knows what they might encounter out here. He needed to replenish their food and water supplies soon, too.

“Any chance we can catch some birds? I’ve seen a few nests, but they’re the wary sort, as you might expect from creatures in this forsaken place.”

“Might be good target practice,” Maeda grunted, turning a throwing knife over in her hand as she glared at Errol. “I suppose I’ll get started while you finish your beauty rest.”

Errol scrubbed the sleep from his eyes and surveyed their camp. Everyone else was up and packed, ready for the day’s expedition. A specter of guilt crept into his soul. He opened his mouth to apologize for not leading by example. Instead, the words that came tumbling out were: “Where’s Rashana?”

Rhae’s mouth twisted. “She still hasn’t moved.”

Gruvrik harrumphed. “Nothing but a fancy climbing piton now, lad. Time to strike camp.”

Jarkoda blurred, moving like quicksilver to loom over the dwarf, who looked up and then spit over the side of the girder, followed by a noisy yawn. “

“She served her purpose, and she served well,” Taras cut in.

“That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard you say,” Gruvrik said, brushing past Jarkoda. “Must have liked her more than you let on.”

“We can’t just abandon her!” Rhae cried. “She was my friend.”

“I no longer sense the soulbond,” Taras said.

Though he spoke quietly, he words reverberated through the group. Stunned silence for a moment, and then a dozen opinions rose up, contradiction chasing on the heels of proposals, often from the same mouth.

Errol held up his hands for silence. “The Stormorb grows in power. We cannot afford to wait for her. Taras, can you leave a trail of our essence?”

Taras frowned, but nodded. “Be warned: anyone can track us if they know what to look for, if I do this thing.”

The thought gave Errol pause. They had already encountered two groups, one of which was still unaccounted for, and he hadn’t truly expected to find any presence other than the orb. His carefully hoarded information about the Bridge seemed so insignificant now. He shook his head as he realized how disproportionately proud he had been of his meager knowledge. Just enough to be dangerous, as Cedric had often chided him.

“Do it. The risk is worth it if Rashana recovers strength and follows. She is the strongest among us, but we can’t hold up here indefinitely.”

Maeda returned then, a brace of sea birds slung over her shoulder. She searched their faces and jumped to an accurate conclusion. For once, she gave Errol a look of approval. That made him second-guess the wisdom of his actions, but he started marching forward, as though he could leave the accusations and guilt behind.

He ran his voltage steam into one of the birds, roasting it from the inside out, and passed it with down the line after tearing off a drumstick and thigh.

Rhae slid into place beside him and squeezed his arm, offering a tentative smile. “We’re still a team. Don’t worry.”

“You’re the most optimistic Qeren I’ve ever met.”

Rhae’s face clouded over. “Humans always seem to distrust us. Yet I’ve never met any Q who acts like the stereotypes.”

Errol picked up the pace and didn’t answer, chewing on a mouthful of bird meat so he could avoid the topic. He hadn’t actually met any Qeren at all, before Rhae and Indara, but if he admitted that now, he’d just look ignorant and rude. “Long way to go. Bridge is already crying beneath us; we need to be careful now.”

Rhae brightened. “You can hear her?”

“Not most of the time,” Errol admitted. “I’m still a novice with my sensor field. Teachers say it may take another few years until I gain sensitivity. Maeda could probably hear more, but she’s not attuned to the Bridge like I am. My unique gift is the only reason Indara even noticed me, truth be told.”

That, and I’m expendable, he added silently.

“Why are you attuned?”

Errol swallowed. “I’d rather not talk about it while we’re here. Let’s just survive first, and I’ll tell you the entire story.”

The Qeren seemed satisfied with his answer, so he trudged onward and upward, moving along the slope in long, easy strides. Soon they would reach another pillar, where presumably a staircase or ladder could take them topside, if his memory of the map served.

A cold wind whipped up, blowing the clouds away momentarily. As the last mottled gray wisp of cloud dissipated in front of him, Errol stared in shock at the remains of the support pillar. The entire top section was missing, along with a chunk of the bridge. The crater looked massive enough to swallow up an entire district of Laurentum. Errol knew his sense of scale was wrong, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something cataclysmic was at work here.

The enormous beam they stood on ended at the pillar, still attached in enough places to stay in the air, but the end of it fragmented into hundreds of channels and fissures.

“I hate jumping,” Gruvrik muttered behind him.

Maeda laughed, low and malicious. “We’ll throw you across, Badger.”

Ragged laughter rumbled out of him. “Just wait until I recover long enough to transform again. I’ll fly off and leave ya behind, ya dumb shark!”

The banter continued, but Errol shut it out and marched. They belonged to a world that he couldn’t enter yet, not at his lowly rank. Fueled by frustration, he arrived at the first crack and leaped across, then bounded over a series of wires and cables as thick as his waist. Not looking back to see if they followed, he continued to swing and jump, pushing himself into a run until his breath ran out.

His blood felt like acid, corroding his veins, but as soon as his breathing slowed enough so that he could lift his head, Errol pushed on. They all made fun of how weak he was, so they’d only be able to blame themselves if they fell behind.

A tangle of cables rose before him, hanging down from the torn edge of the Bridge itself. He growled at the challenge, rummaging in his pack until he found a harness and some spikes. They wouldn’t have helped with the rope, but for this oversized bird’s nest, they’d do. He started climbing.

Halfway up, the swirling winds almost tore him from the cabling. If he hadn’t driven in an entire foot of spike a moment beforehand . . . he shivered, letting the image evaporate. Lose his focus, and he’d die. Wind roared and howled by his head. The cold grew worse as the unnatural storm intensified. His hands shook and his grip grew icy. By the time he could see a doorway up above, he couldn’t even feel his hands at all.

Finally he chanced a look down to see how the rest of the team fared—most likely they’d remembered to bring cloaks and gloves, or had powers to climb up like squirrels.

No one was there.

Errol scanned the area again. Nothing. His stomach turned, but he shoved down an urge to retch. Maybe Gruvrik had transformed into a giant Roc and carried them up to the top already. Maybe they were smart and had found a cave to shelter in to wait out the storm.

Or maybe he’d failed and left them to die.