He’s dead. But no, he wasn’t. He was still breathing— shallow, fast-paced breaths, almost like panting. Falcon grabbed his shoulder, squeezed. Nightwalker jerked his head up, looked at the young ganger, tried to focus. But Falcon knew that whatever the runner was seeing, it wasn't him. He looked closer into his chummer’s eyes. By the yellow light of the lamp, he could see that one pupil was contracted almost to the size of a pinprick while the other was dilated so much there didn’t seem to be any iris around it. What the frag did it mean? Whatever it was, it wasn’t good.