"That's not going to happen. I've tried. The habit is structural at this point," I manage to get out.
Something ahead. I see it before he redirects us toward it. A blockage across the street where a section of the building has been introduced into the pavement. Concrete and rebar, and the kind of debris that doesn't have a clear path through, only over.
I assess it.
"Okay," I say quietly, doing the math, "the left side has better footholds. That chunk on the right looks like it's considering a second fall. Middle is-" I tilt my head to the side as I survey it, "actually, probably fine if you don't weigh the slab at the top."
Colt looks at me.
"What," I ask.
"You assessed that in four seconds."
"I've had a lot of time to develop spatial processing skills. Small room. Very little else to do." I gesture toward the left approach.
"Left side. I'll go first if you want a stability read."
He studies the pile for a moment. Then nods once, and I start moving. The rubble shifts under my feet in two places but holds, and I can’t help the sigh of relief that escapes me. The rebar I use for a handhold on themiddle section takes my weight without complaint. The top is less stable than it looks from ground level. A slight give when I step onto it that I adjust for without stopping.
I reach the other side and turn back. Colt is already halfway up, moving with an efficiency that makes the whole thing look like a minor inconvenience.
"Jump down," he says when I'm standing at the edge of the descent, "the footing on that side is bad."
I look down. He's right… loose rubble, uncertain surface.
"You'll catch me," I say. It isn't a question. I say it the way you state a fact you've already verified. Something moves in his expression.
"Yes."
I jump.
He catches me the way he does everything. Without drama, just with the complete physical competence of someone for whom this is within the normal operating range. His hands close on my waist, and the momentum gets absorbed and redirected, and I end up against his chest with a solidity that is extremely unhelpful for my current attempts at physiological regulation.
His scent at chest-contact range makes my brain fire off several sensations simultaneously. I bite down hard on every external indication of this.
"Thanks," I sigh, stepping back to a distance that allows independent breathing.
His hands don't linger. He releases me and moves forward, which I appreciate as a tactical decision even while the omega half of my nervous system registers it as a loss. We keep moving.
The city offers new information with every block. This wasn't a sudden event, or if it was sudden, it happened long enough ago that the aftermath has had time to settle into permanence. The fires in the distance areestablished. The plant life coming up through cracks in the pavement has years of growth on it.
Whatever happened here happened, and then time continued anyway, and the city has been sitting in this state while the world did other things. Three years in a lab. Three years of news controlled by the people controlling everything else.
I have no idea what happened out here. I add that to the list of things I need information about, right belowshoesand right above,where exactly are we going?
"Colt," I say.
"Mm."
"Where are we going?"
A pause that contains navigation. He scans a ruined intersection, reads something in the geography, and commits right.
"Somewhere defensible," he says.
"That's a category, not a destination."
"It's what I have right now."
