Not a good sign, Romy thought.

Thrym and Elara’s arms were a blur in Romy’s peripherals. But even she couldn’t look away from the gauge.

168.

“We’re nearly coasting.” Elara’s voice broke. “Come on.”

They just had to lose the extra velocity. Then they would survive. Orbit would save them.

163.

Romy didn’t want to watch anymore. She squeezed her eyes shut. There were still eleven more years in her lifespan! She’d nearly died once today already; twice wasn’t fair.

“We’ve lost the extra velocity,” came Thrym’s quiet voice.

They had? Romy’s wrenched open her eyes and peered at the gauge.

Her heart sank. 158 kilometres.

“Just too late,” she responded in a hollow voice.

It began as a small pull in Romy’s abdomen. But the immediate follow-up was exponential as gravity rapidly took hold faster than her mind could comprehend. Soon, it wasn’t just that they were dropping; it was like a gigantic hand was throwing them to the ground.

“Two lousy kilometres. Someone must hate us,” Deimos shouted over the groan of their craft.

“Earth Protocol!” Phobos called.

Their voices cut in and out, distorted in the hammering and wild descent. Knot 27 hurtled towards Earth.

Still they picked up speed. Romy’s mouth was bone-dry, her eyes wide as the battler rolled over endlessly, disorientating the knot inside. They were still in the black of space, but she could see the whites and greys of clouds below. How many times had she stared at them from the orbito’s windows?

“I’m getting rid of the guns!” Elara shouted. Romy was thrown from side to side as the floor of the battler vibrated beneath her feet. With a groan, the three guns disengaged from the craft, one after the other. Head knocking in her helmet, she stared outside as they entered into the clouds.

Earth loomed before them. And there was no doubt that Romy was about to get her dearest wish.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

Romy’s heart thundered in her ears. She squeezed her eyes shut. All of their training was based on surviving in space. She gasped for air.

“Honey. You need to breathe,” Deimos called to her.

She obeyed and drew a long deep breath through her nose. Upon doing so, she opened her eyes the slightest crack.

There was fire outside her window, a bare two metres from her face.

“Fire!” she screamed.

Elara’s voice was tight with focus. “I think that’s normal. From the friction.”

Romy didn’t care what anyone said; you couldn’t be sitting inside an object writhing in flame and think the situation was normal.

Had they really just been celebrating mere minutes ago? Romy heard the cries of her knot as they were battered relentlessly.

She was going to die. Her knot was going to die.