"You brought a Bastion target straight to our doorstep, and you expect me to roll out a welcome mat?" Silas slammed his heavy wooden mug down onto the rough-hewn table, splashing dark, bitter chicory tea across the grain. The cooperative elder leaned forward, his white-bearded jaw set like a granite slab as he glared across the flickering candlelight at Zoya. "The scout drones didn’t circle this ridge by accident, girl. They were tracking a thermal signature. His signature."Zoya didn’t flinch. She kept her back straight, her hands resting flat against the edge of the table to mask the steady, fine tremor in her fingers. "The drones were sweeping the lower valley three hours before we ever cleared the tree line. If they were tracking us specifically, the place would already be a smoking crater. They’re looking for stray signals, Silas. Not a homestead.""Don't lie to me," Silas growled, his voice dropping an octave as he shoved himself up from the bench, leaning over the table until h

The pale, ash-gray light of dawn had barely begun to bleed over the jagged ridge of the upper cooperative when Zoya stepped out from the creaking timber door of the livestock barn. The morning air carried a sharp, metallic bite that instantly scorched the back of her throat, a reminder that winter here didn't just arrive—it seized the valley by the throat. She pulled the thick, coarse wool of her gray scarf tighter around her neck, her hand dropping instinctively to the worn butt of the pistol holstered securely at her hip.She didn't relax. She couldn't.Zoya began her routine perimeter sweep, her boots making a dull, squelching sound against the damp, frost-crusted earth of the cooperative’s outer boundary. The cooperative was small, little more than a collection of three interconnected stone-and-timber longhouses huddled defensively against the sheer limestone face of the mountain, ringed by a haphazard fence of interwoven pine boughs and rusted barbed wire. It was built for isolat

The sharp, metallic smell of hot solder and ozone filled the dim alcove behind the cooperative’s grain storehouse, sharp enough to make the back of Ariful's throat prickle. His right hand trembled—a persistent, involuntary flutter that had plagued him ever since the bulkhead override—and he gripped the screwdriver so hard his knuckles turned translucent beneath the scorched skin."If you squeeze any tighter, the handle’s going to snap in half, and then we’re really going to be working in the dark," Toby muttered, kneeling on the damp stone floor beside a tangle of stripped copper cabling. The boy held a rusted oil lamp up higher, casting long, wavering shadows across Ariful’s gaunt, sweat-streaked face.Ariful didn’t relax his grip, though he carefully adjusted the tip of the driver against a stubborn brass screw terminal. "If this casing slips by a millimeter, kid, the entire armature is going to arc and fry every single diode I scavenged from that old radio relay. Then Silas won't j

"We're three days away from being turned into targets for a Bastion patrol, Jory, and you were ready to hand them our exact coordinates just because your mother has a dry cough?" Zoya’s voice was a low, dangerous hiss inside the cramped, potato-scented dark of the root cellar, her fingers tightening around the grip of her pistol even as she kept her eyes locked on the terrified boy. "Do you have any idea what happens when a Bastion strike team sweeps a cooperative? They don't hand out penicillin and wave goodbye. They burn the houses, slaughter the livestock, and take whoever is left alive back to the work camps in chains."Jory’s hands trembled violently, his fingers slipping off the crude brass dials of the hand-cranked transmitter as he shrank back against the stacked crates of winter roots. "I didn't mean... I didn't want anyone to die," he choked out, his voice cracking with panic as tears finally spilled over his eyelashes. "The man at the valley checkpoint said—he promised if I

"Silas isn't going to care about cold bunks once he realizes we saved him the trouble of kicking us out," Zoya muttered, her voice cutting sharply through the howling pre-dawn gale as she hauled Toby upright by the heavy canvas collar of his oversized coat. "Keep your head down, kid. If you trip on this shale, I'm leaving you for the crows."Toby scrambled frantically to regain his footing, his small frame staggering under the weight of a pack stuffed with dried root vegetables and extra wool. "I'm not going to trip! I told you, I know these ridges better than you do!"" Knowing a ridge and walking it in a whiteout while Bastion scouts are sniffing the lower timberline are two entirely different skills," Zoya snapped, not breaking her stride as she shoved him forward into the blinding sheet of white. "Move."Ariful brought up the rear, his teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached. He kept one hand firmly anchored to the braided nylon rope that tethered the three of them together, his thum