Fear has a sound.
Most men think it’s screaming.
They’re wrong.
Fear is silence where there shouldn’t be any.
The Ascendancy soldiers have stopped advancing. Not retreating—yet. Just… waiting. Watching the tree line. Listening.
They know something changed.
Aaron moves up beside me, voice low. “They’re slowing.”
“Good,” I murmur.
Miles checks his scope from the rocks above. “They’re pulling back into staggered positions. No rush. No chatter.”
Jase’s voice ghosts through comms.“They recognized you.”
I don’t answer.
Because I don’t need to.
I feel it.
The shift. The awareness. The moment the hunters realize the terrain no longer belongs to them.
I step forward—out of cover.
Not reckless.
Deliberate.
Let them see me.
A figure moves at the edge of the trees—Ascendancy officer, judging by the way the others angle around him. He raises his rifle.
I raise mine first.
One shot.
Clean.
He drops without a sound.
No panic fire. No chaos.
Just stillness.
Then a whisper ripples through the trees—voices in Russian, tight, urgent.
Aaron exhales slowly. “They’re calling you by name.”
I tilt my head, listening.
“Pierce,” one of them breathes. “Ghostline.”
An old name.
