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“That’s not the same thing!”
Another shot cracks overhead.
Too close.
Too exposed.
I grab his vest, dragging him lower.
“Stop arguing with me and stay down.”
He stares at me.
Like I just crossed some invisible line.
Like he’s deciding whether to fight me—
—or listen.
“New rule,” I say, voice low, sharp. “You don’t get to die on me today.”
A beat.
Gunfire.
Breathing.
Tension.
Then—
“…wasn’t planning on it.”
Good.
Because I’m not planning on letting him.
I peek over the ridge again.
Count.
Adjust.
Think.
This isn’t random.
This isn’t just a team sent to clean us up.
This is—
Coordinated.
Timed.
Predictive.
“They knew we’d leave at first light,” I say.
