As he pulled me up, I felt it—something shifting.
Not just the plan.
Us.
I wasn’t just the one being protected anymore.
I was part of the fight.
And somewhere out there, Thomas had no idea the game had just changed.
22
Trigger
Trigger didn’t rush the decision.
That was the trick.
Men who panicked left trails. Men who hurried made mistakes. Thomas would be expecting speed now—desperation, urgency, fear.
Trigger gave him none of that.
He finished pulling Rylie up the embankment, steadying her until her footing was secure, then paused. Listened again. Counted heartbeats.
“They think we’re still running west,” he said quietly.
Rylie wiped her hands on her jeans. “But we’re not.”
“No,” he agreed. “We’re going to let them think they’re right.”
He shifted his pack and deliberately reached down, pulling out the folded thermal blanket. Without hesitation, he tore off a strip and wrapped it around a low branch near the ravine’s edge—right where spray and mud would catch it.
A breadcrumb.
Rylie’s eyes widened. “You’re leaving a sign.”
“Yes,” he said calmly. “A convincing one.”
He moved a few steps downstream, scuffing the mud just enough to look sloppy. Human. Tired. Then he stepped back onto clean rock and erased their real path with water.
When he returned to her side, his expression had changed.
Focused. Intent.
“This is where we slow them down,” he murmured. “And pull their attention off you.”
Off me.
She touched his arm. “Trigger—”
He covered her hand with his, firm and grounding. “I’m not disappearing. I’m controlling where they look.”
She studied his face, searching for recklessness.
She didn’t find it.
She found certainty.
