The world spun a little too violently for Luke's liking.
His ears rang, and stars peppered his vision. He blinked hard—once, twice—and hissed as a dull ache bloomed along his side. The chest plate had hit like a sledgehammer. He'd have been out cold or worse if it had not been for the thin layer of shock-absorbent leather under his robes.
Still, this wasn't exactly ideal.
His thoughts scrambled to get back into formation. He knew he didn't have time. Commander Alec was coming. Probably already halfway here. Luke could feel the commander's presence pressing closer, heavier than the air, like the stomp of a lion approaching a rabbit who just faked death a second too early.
He needed to move. Think. Act.
But his limbs were slow, his head a spinning mess, and breathing through his teeth wasn't helping. He winced and tried to push himself upright—then noticed something beside his arm, lying just beyond the folds of his singed robe.
His phone.
