The soldier's voice on the line was flat. "Yes, Captain. We'll check the perimeter—" He cut off as if someone yanked him away from the radio.
Devvyn felt a cold pinch against his chest, like a hand closing where the whistle hung. The metal grew cold, an actual cold that crept up his fingers and into his teeth. He swallowed, whispering, "They're going to die."
"What?" Victor asked.
"My whistle—" Devvyn said quickly, "I didn't understand it before, not really. But anytime it senses Remnants, it goes cold. It was cold before I fell into the chamber. Cold when the first one attacked. It's—" His voice cut off as the chill deepened, "cold now."