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Silence.
Sharp.
Heavy.
“You’re not expendable,” I add.
“Neither are you.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?”
That—
That hits.
Because yes.
I do.
But hearing him say it?
Different.
A drone humcuts through the air above us.
Low.
Mechanical.
Watching.
We both freeze.
Look up.
“…that’s new,” I whisper.
Jase
Yeah.
That’s very new.
And very bad.
“They’re not just tracking movement anymore,” I say.
“They’re scanning.”
“Heat signatures,” Mila confirms.
Which means—
Cover doesn’t matter.
Hiding doesn’t matter.
