Pain woke him before the sun did. It started in his back, a tight, pulling sensation where the shrapnel had grazed him. Every breath felt like inhaling broken glass. Ezra opened his eyes. The tent was dark, lit only by the blue glow emanating from the cot in the corner.
Ash lay still. He hadn't moved in twelve hours. The stone had spread to his neck, covering his throat. His breathing was shallow, barely visible beneath the grey plating. Mara sat beside him, her head resting on the edge of the cot. She was asleep. Her hand rested on Ash's stone-covered arm.
Ezra tried to sit up. His muscles screamed. He gritted his teeth and swung his legs over the side of the cot. His back was wrapped in bandages, stained with blood and iodine. He stood, swaying slightly, and walked to the flap. He push
