Outside, the wind howls wrong, too even, too precise. Static skitters through the radio, and the hair on my arms lifts.
A pattern hides in the noise. Three pulses. Pause. Two more.
My stomach drops. I know the frequency without ever hearing it before. From the ones who came before me.
Sentinel code.
Every warning from Mags washes over me. Things I thought were legend, springing to life.
I rise, my nerves alive with warning.
Josephine pulls the blanket tighter, her wide eyes catching the ghost-light flicker beyond the window.
“They can’t find us,” I whisper, already scanning for the dampener, for the one broken piece of tech that might buy us time.
The mountains answer with a rumble like a pulse beneath the earth. Whatever peace we found tonight—it’s over.
The radio crackles again, coded bursts of sound. My mind fractures, pulling away from the bond, trying to shield Josephine from the rage and fear roaring through my veins.
They shouldn’t be able to follow me this far north—shouldn’t be able to find me this distance from the Starborn Range. Where the air thins and the ground branches with mineral veins.
I feel the bond falter as I jump to my feet, hurrying into my clothes. She follows wordlessly, her mind layering itself with composure, the way her hands layer fabric across her body.
Another burst—white noise and binary teeth.
“Just a storm front,” she says, but her voice quivers.
No storm hums in code.
The herd outside grows restless. One of the horses darts past the window. Must’ve broke through the paddock, panicked by frequencies too high for human ears. They invade my skull.
I strain against them, a new kind of headache, killing the lantern. “Stay low.”
A hush falls—so complete it feels like the world is waiting. Then another flicker moves beyond the glass.
I crawl to the window, raising my head just enough to see.
Through the mist, I find movement.
At first, I think it’s rain swirling in the wind—until light catches metal.
A swarm of shiny insects. Their wings shimmer like beetle shells, catching lightning in impossible colors.
I blink slow, eyes narrowing.
Only they’re too uniform. And their wings beat too perfectly, each motion identical.
Not human tech. Sentinel.
Their scanning waves roll over the land, a metallic taste blooming on my tongue as they brush against my nervous system.
Josephine grips my arm. “What are they?”
Fear crashes—then doubles back. I don’t know where mine ends and hers begins.
“We should hide,” she whispers, gaze still fixed on the hovering device beyond the glass.
Logic tries to pierce through. Tell me it’s only observing.
