“Which means—” he starts.
“We’ve been tracked,” I finish.
Or—
My chest tightens.
Not tracked.
Led.
I fire back—controlled, precise—forcing one of them to drop.
But more take his place.
Too many.
Too organized.
Too ready.
“They’re not just reacting,” I say. “They’re anticipating.”
Jase’s jaw tightens.
“Someone’s feeding them intel.”
Yeah.
That’s what I was afraid of.
And there’s only one place that intel could be coming from.
I feel it then.
That shift.
That cold realization.
“…no…” I whisper.
“What?” he asks.
I shake my head.
Because I don’t want to say it.
Because saying it makes it real.
“They knew about the convoy,” I say. “They knew about the route.”
“And now they know where we are,” he adds.
I meet his eyes.
And this time—
There’s no deflection.
