Not proximity to the mountains. That sensation is steady. Predictable.
This is different. This feels like something reaching.
I adjust my sleeve out of reflex, though the markings aren’t visible. Not yet. They only give off light near the range after dark. Easy enough to explain as specialty ink.
This isn’t that. This feels wrong.
The hum crawls up my spine, disorienting enough that the horizon tilts for half a second.
I grip the saddle horn until it steadies.
Martin pretends not to notice. He removes his brown Stetson, wiping his brow with the back of his hand.
“Granddaughter’s coming home today,” he says, like we’re discussing rain. “Should be here any minute.”
He watches the mountains, mist clinging to their edges despite the noon sun.
I grunt, eyes sliding like his toward the same spot. “Must be proud.”
The pulse spikes so hard my vision flashes white.
I inhale slow through my nose.
Control.
The mountains sit quiet. No drones in the sky. No movement in the high ridges. If the government men were running scans, I’d feel it differently. Colder. Sharper.
If it were the Sentinels… Well, I’m not sure those bastards still exist.
Besides, this isn’t external. This is internal.
Martin shrugs. “Anthropology major. Pricy education, more than likely small payoff. But her parents…” He lets that hang. “Dreamers.”
He means to say difficult. Heard a lot about them over the years, their estranged relationship, too.
“Always money to be made with hard work,” I say.
“Wish she saw things that way.”
Dust lifts on the valley road. A thin silver car cuts through the sagebrush haze.
The hum shifts key.
Winnie tosses her head beneath me, uneasy.
Martin smiles, something soft breaking through his weathered face. “That’ll be Jo.”
The name lands like flint striking steel.
I nudge Winnie forward.
“Where you headed?” he asks.
“Chores.”
“But don’t you want to see Jo again? It’s been ages.”
I grimace. “Don’t want to infringe on a family gathering.”
