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A pause.
Then—
“Not happening.”
The words hit something in my chest.
Not soft.
Not gentle.
Solid.
But reality doesn’t shift just because we want it to.
And right now—
We are separated.
I move anyway.
Low. Controlled. Testing the ground before each step.
Nothing triggers.
No sound.
No reaction.
Which means—
That first trigger?
Deliberate.
Designed to break formation.
And it worked.
Barely.
But enough.
“Don’t move straight to me,” Logan says.
I almost smile.
“Wasn’t planning to.”
Good.
He’s thinking the same way.
Always.
I angle left instead, changing my line of approach, watching for any shift in terrain, any unnatural break.
There.
