“That’s mine,” he says immediately.
Every head turns, wanting to watch the fall out.
She twists in place, eyes sharp. “Yours?”
He doesn’t look away. “Yes.”
No apology. No justification.
“Why?” she demands.
“Does it matter?” he replies. “It allowed us to find you, didn’t it?”
She studies him for a long beat, then nods once. “We’re discussing that later.”
Fair.
I move on.
Chest. Spine. Abdomen.
Nothing.
Confusion tightens the room.
“This doesn’t make sense,” Honey mutters. “If our theory’s right, they must have tagged her?—”
“Check my feet,” Kayla says suddenly, toeing off her shoes and pulling her socks free.
Every head snaps back to her.
“What?” Snow asks.
“I had a dream,” she says calmly. “Early on. Fire. Itching. Between my toes. Like something was under my skin. Gnawing.”
The room stills.
I crouch and sweep the scanner along her ankle.
Nothing.
Then between her toes.
The scanner lights up.
Not loud. Not frantic.
Bright. Certain.
There it is.
The hum shifts – patterned now. Deliberate. Low-level, intermittent, pulsed just slowly enough to look like background noise if you weren’t paying attention.
It isn’t broadcasting constantly.
It checks in. Pauses. Waits.
Like something patient.
