The crackle of the campfire was the only warm thing in the freezing basin, throwing long, distorted shadows of the three scavengers against the sheer cliffside.
"If the Coalition is pushing this far north, the borderlands are dead," the second scavenger muttered, using a stick to poke at the roasting meat. "Those white-coats don't look for scrap. They look for blood. Did you see what they did to the outpost near the ridge? Clean cuts. No mercy."
"That’s why we find Tyler, grab whatever fell from the sky, and get out," the leader grunted, his hand resting on the hilt of a heavy iron machete. He looked toward the dark forest, his eyes narrowing as the wind howled through the pines. "Tyler's been gone too long. He’s greedy, but he’s not stupid. He wouldn't miss a hot meal unless he found something big."
Georgia watched them from behind the mossy boulder, her mind working with cold, rapid precision.
The three men were heavily armed, alert, and on edge because of the nearby Coalition forces. A direct confrontation with a single, unfamiliar crossbow and a terrified pilot holding a brass wrench was a death sentence. But they had one massive advantage: the scavengers didn't know Tyler was dead, and they didn't know the "Songbird" was watching them from the dark.
She leaned closer to Corin, her voice a feather-light whisper. "Give me the canvas sack."
Corin stared at her, his eyes wide in the gloom, but he slowly slid the heavy, clinking bag of stripped metal toward her. "What are you going to do?"
"We are going to buy our way through," Georgia whispered. "And then we are going to make them clear our path."
She untied the sack, reaching inside until her fingers closed around a heavy, polished brass pressure gauge they had torn from the skiff’s boiler. It was beautifully crafted, stamped with the intricate imperial crest of the Eastern Court—a gilded cage surrounded by thorns. To a surface-dweller, it was an undeniable proof of high-value imperial wreckage.
She handed the iron crossbow to Corin. His hands shook so violently that the metal clattered against his brass wrench.
"If they move toward me with weapons drawn, you fire at the leader," Georgia commanded, her voice dropping to a freezing, absolute register. "You do not aim to wound. You pull the trigger and you run. Do you understand?"
Corin swallowed hard, slowly nodding as he clutched the heavy stock of the weapon.
Georgia stood up. She pulled her dark, soot-stained cloak tightly around her shoulders, letting the hood fall back just enough to expose her striking, pale face and the tangled strands of her silver-white hair. She took a deep breath, instantly shifting her posture. The cold, lethal survivor vanished, replaced in a heartbeat by the fragile, trembling, exhausted princess she had played for years in the floating palace.
She stepped out from the shadow of the boulder, her ruined slippers crunching softly on the frozen pine needles.
"Please..." she gasped, her voice carrying a delicate, breathless tremor that cut through the crackle of the campfire.
Instantly, the three scavengers spun around. Weapons were drawn in a flash of steel—two bows notched with hunting arrows and the leader's heavy machete catching the firelight.
"Who's there?" the leader roared, taking a defensive step forward.
Georgia stumbled slightly, letting her knees buckle just enough to look weak, but she caught herself against a low branch. She raised her hands in a trembling, submissive gesture, letting the heavy brass imperial gauge slip from her cloak and fall onto the dirt with a loud, metallic thud.
"Don't... please, don't shoot," Georgia wept softly, her violet eyes wide with a perfect, desperate terror. "My ship... it crashed by the river. I'm all alone."
The three men froze. Their eyes darted from her pale, ethereal face down to the torn, dirty silk of her gown, and finally to the polished brass imperial crest gleaming in the dirt.
A slow, ugly realization dawned on the leader’s face, his greed instantly overriding his caution. He lowered his machete slightly, a cruel, mocking smile spreading beneath his leather mask.
"Well, well," he whispered, looking back at his men. "Look what the sky just dropped into our lap."