“Tell me what you need from me,” she said.
That—right there—nearly undid him.
“You stay exactly where I put you,” he replied. “If anything feels wrong, you move uphill and don’t stop until you hit rock.”
“And you?”
“I’ll be loud,” he said grimly. “Just enough.”
He guided her behind a cluster of fallen trees and rock, tucking her into cover that broke sightlines and muffled sound.
“Rylie,” he said quietly, crouching in front of her. “Look at me.”
She did.
“If this goes sideways,” he continued, “you don’t come after me.”
Her jaw set. “That’s not—”
“Promise me,” he said firmly. “You survive. That’s the mission.”
Her chest rose and fell once.
“I promise,” she said finally.
He held her gaze a second longer—then leaned in and pressed his forehead to hers.
“Good,” he murmured. “Because I plan on ending this.”
Then he stood.
And deliberately stepped back toward the ravine.
He didn’t move like a ghost now.
He moved like a man who wanted to be seen.
A snapped branch.
A scrape of boot on stone.
Just enough noise to whisperhere.
Trigger felt it almost immediately—the shift. The pressure in the air. The sense of eyes sliding into place.
They took the bait.
He let them.
He moved west, just as planned, leaving a trail that looked rushed and imperfect. Any tracker worth their salt would see it and smile.
That smile would cost them.
From her hiding place, Rylie watched him go, heart pounding—not with fear, but awe.
He wasn’t running anymore.
He was leading them exactly where he wanted.
