My jaw tightens.
“Bones?” Honey asks.
“It’s not transmitting continuously,” I say. “It’s polling.”
Snow stiffens. “Meaning?”
“Meaning it doesn’t care where she is until something changes,” I reply. “Then it asks and draws a location.”
Hatchet’s expression darkens. Nightshade’s voice is tightly controlled. “Changes how?”
I lower the scanner. “Stability.”
Silence spreads.
Kayla’s fingers curl lightly into her trousers. Focused. Present.
“So rest triggered it,” she says.
“Yes.”
Snow swears. “That’s insane.”
“No,” I correct. “It’s efficient. And it makes perfect sense if you think about it.” I power the scanner down. “Panic floods the signal. Movement creates noise. Stress scrambles everything.”
“And calm doesn’t,” Ghost says quietly from the corner.
I nod. “Calm sharpens it.”
Understanding settles – slow and precise.
“They didn’t track the escape,” Honey says. “They waited for the landing.”
“Yes.”
“They’re not watching to stop me,” Kayla says. “They’re watching to learn.”
“Correct.”
Her gaze lifts. Thoughtful. Not afraid.
I check the scanner’s internal clock, do the maths.
“Thirty-six to forty-eight hours before the next poll,” I say. “Maybe less now.”
“Cut it out,” Honey snaps, flick knife flashing into his hand.
I shake my head. “We can’t. They’ll know.”
Snow’s hands clench. “So we move. Now.”
“That’s one option.” My tone gives away that I don’t think it’s a good idea.
“And the other?” Nightshade asks.
I don’t like it.
Which usually means it’s necessary.
