The horizon broke into a thin bruise of blue. A hawk cut through the line of trees, lazy, hunting because it could. For that heartbeat of a dawn, it felt like the world might forgive us our trespasses.
Then, a sound, a drone’s faint whine high above the canopy. The hairs on my neck stood up. Ariel lifted her head.
“Eyes?” she whispered.
“Yeah,” I said. “They’ve got eyes.”
I slid the rifle strap over my shoulder and kicked dirt over the coals. She was already packing, fast and quiet. The sky kept brightening. The drone’s hum grew thinner, then steadied, like a coin spinning flat.
“South ridge,” I said, and she nodded. The moment of confession was gone, folded into the next mission, the next move.
We left the porch behind us. The fire went cold.
And the ghosts came marching again, keeping perfect pace.
