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Empty.
Still.
Nothing there.
But—
“Logan…”
He’s already moving before I finish.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know,” I say, and I hate that answer more than anything. “But this—this isn’t the hit.”
His eyes lock onto mine.
No hesitation.
“Then what is it?”
A breath.
Sharp.
Controlled.
“Positioning.”
The word drops like a stone.
Because that’s what this feels like.
Not impact.
Setup.
Something is already in place.
Already moving.
And we’re—
“We’re late,” I say.
Not by time.
By understanding.
Logan’s jaw tightens.
“Then we move now.”
“Yes.”
But even as I say it—
That feeling spikes.
