"Wake up!" A big hand yanked at my shoulder. Pain flashed, sharp and immediate. "Stay down," the voice ordered. I opened my eyes to a sky that hurt to look at. My mouth tasted of metal and cold earth. "Who—" I started, then a boot pressed my ribs and air left me. "Name," he said. "Slowly." "My name..." I swallowed. My tongue felt swollen. My breath hitched. "Angelica." He tightened his grip on my shoulder, but gentler. "Angelica Michel?" He sounded surprised the way a person sounds when a fact rearranges itself. "You're alive. Stay down," he repeated. I tried to sit up and my world spun. My head throbbed with a migraine that wasn't just pain; something in me had shifted. I kicked out, more reflex than purpose, and my knee clipped his thigh. "Hey!" he grunted, steadying my leg with one hand and pulling a small radio with the other. "Control, target down on Pine Ridge, female, conscious. Request medical back-up." A crackle answered him. He turned to me. "Can you move?" "I—" My voice was smaller than I expected. I pushed up on my palms and everything lurched. Tears burned at the corners of my eyes. The ridge sloped away into a scatter of pines and scrub. I smelled smoke and dust. "You fell," he said. "Two days ago. Search team found you at the south gulch." "You don't understand—" I tried, but my knees gave. I scrabbled for purchase on the rock