Static answered first.
Then the comm crackled with screaming interference, thunder, and the distant roar of the Alpha.
No one outside heard Jagger answer.
Because Jagger was no longer in the hall.
He hit the void with a gasping breath.
His eyes snapped open wide, but there was nothing to see except endless black and the violent gold-white bars of light rising around him like prison walls. He was on his back. No, on his knees. No, falling. His body could not decide what memory belonged to it.
Pain came anyway.
It ripped across his ribs first, phantom and real at the same time. His left side burned as if the crystal beam were still carving through him. His thigh spasmed where the spike had punched through. His shoulders screamed from the Alpha's blow. His back remembered the kiosk. His skull remembered the wall.
He tried to breathe and inhaled nothing.
His hands scrabbled against the black floor.
There was no blood on them.
That made the panic worse.
"No," he choked.
