Darrow frames himself as his father’s son, recalling the Society’s televised trial and his father’s hanging, when he alone did not cry and his mother struck him for it. The memory contrasts with his present life as a Helldiver on Mars, sealed in a stifling frysuit, guiding a clawDrill through deep, dangerous tunnels stalked by pitvipers.

Isolated at the drill’s elbow, Darrow manipulates the heat-lit fingers with speed beyond his older crewmates. He thinks of his wife Eo, their childhood bond, their early marriage, and the hunger that marks their lives underground, never having seen stars. Winning the quarterly Laurel could mean comfort and food for their clan; losing means continued scarcity.

Over comms, Uncle Narol orders him to hold for a scanCrew after detecting a gas pocket, while Old Barlow mocks and Kieran counsels patience. Pressed by time, Darrow calculates that waiting will cost them the Laurel. He impulsively calls Narol a coward, then regrets it as Loran pushes for a handscan, and Narol insists on caution.

Darrow judges Narol weak and drunk yet knows his mother would tell him to obey. Thoughts of Eo’s visible ribs harden his resolve. Determined to seize the Laurel and provide for her, he chooses risk over obedience and prepares to scan the pocket himself to save hours.

He unstraps and drops down the shaft, bouncing between the drill housing and the wall to reach the blazing drill fingers. Amid lethal heat and viper threat, he lowers the scanner toward the pocket. As his suit bubbles and the air scalds his lungs, the device flickers and a sweet, sharp smell—death to a Helldiver—rises, leaving him in peril.