The forest is quiet in a way that makes my skin hum—too quiet for the dropship, too alive for the Ark. I’m sitting on a fallen log, dirt on my hands, watching Daisy Snow move through the trees like she belongs to them. She kneels beside me without asking, fingers gentle as she checks the cut on my arm, and for the first time since landing, I don’t feel like I have to fight the ground to exist on it.