[POV: Lyon Monroe]

"Check your six, Miller! If you let those crystalline bastards get a lock on your heat signature, you’re not going to have a tail fin left to worry about! Everyone, tighten the formation! We are the only thing standing between that floating graveyard and the eastern seaboard! Do not—I repeat—do not let those drones breach the primary perimeter!"

Lyon Monroe’s voice crackled through the comms, a jagged edge of adrenaline and desperation cutting through the static. He slammed his flight stick to the left, his body straining against the crushing G-force as his Monroe-class interceptor shrieked through the thin air of the upper atmosphere. Outside his cockpit,...