The ascent from the lunar surface is a violent, bone-rattling blur of G-forces and blinding pain.
I am strapped into the medical cot in the rear compartment of the Artemis VII, my left arm completely numb, a dead weight resting against the sterile sheets of the med-bay. The neuro-regenerators Margot is pumping into my bloodstream feel like liquid ice in my veins, but they do nothing to dull the diffuse, blinding static that crackles behind my eyes. Every time the transport’s thrusters fire, a spike of white-hot agony shoots down my spine, settling into the marrow of my bones.
Kade is beside me. He has unsealed the collar of his thermal suit, his face pale, his jaw set in a hard, furious line. His right hand rests on my right knee, his thumb tracing slow, grounding circles against my leg.
