Somewhere soft.
Somewhere sacred.
My stomach dropped.
“No,” I whispered before I could stop myself.
The runner’s eyes flicked up, sharp now. Assessing. Curious.
“What is it?” he asked.
I met his gaze fully for the first time. “You just made a mistake.”
His mouth twitched. “Did we?”
“Yes,” I said, certainty flooding me cold and clean. “Because if you think pulling him away from me will save you—”
I shook my head.
“You don’t understand him at all.”
The runner lifted his hand toward his earpiece.
I stepped forward—just one pace. Enough to matter.
“If anyone gets hurt,” I said quietly, “he won’t choose.”
That stopped the runner.
“Choose what?” he asked.
“Between them and me,” I replied. “He’ll take you apart piece by piece.”
Silence stretched between us.
Somewhere behind me—farther back than before—I felt it again.
Intent.
Trigger.
He was close.
Which meant whatever Thomas had just done was big enough to pull at him from a distance.
I drew a slow breath, grounding myself.
Think like him.
Thomas didn’t want Trigger to leave me.
He wanted Trigger tohesitate.
And hesitation was deadly.
I reached into my pocket and turned on my phone—not for coordinates this time.
For one name.
