Arrin pulled Daughtery to his knees, bent Daughtery’s arm toward his chest, and shoved the blade deep into his enemy’s heart.

Daughtery gasped in pain and struggled to his feet. “You!” His eyes glazed over and he collapsed to his knees before falling face first into the snow.

Sweat from the excruciating pain of his knife wound beading his forehead, chest heaving, Arrin struggled to his feet and stumbled across the street to a relatively sheltered spot beneath the cupola of the single upscale restaurant in the colony, ironically named The Refuge. He leaned against the beige stucco building for support, pulled up his coat and white cable knit sweater and examined his injury. It was deep enough and in the right place it would be fatal if not treated soon, despite his en...

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