Fear clamps chilly fingers around my heart. I blink. Thoughts scatter. Breathing feels harder than it should.
He stays where he is, body angled between me and the passage, as if the rock itself isn’t enough of a barrier without him reinforcing it. I hold position with him. Not because I’m told to, but because I understand now what happens if I don’t.
The space they passed through feels… wrong. Like it’s not empty, more like it was cleared. Like something moved through it and removed everything that didn’t belong—including us.
“They didn’t react,” I murmur, keeping my voice low, contained. “No scan spike. No hesitation.”
“Yes.”
I glance at him.
“You’ve seen them before.”
It’s not a question and he doesn’t say anything for a moment. His attention stays outward, tracking the direction they went, the path we didn’t take. Then?—
“Yes.”
My chest tightens.
“They are what took you.”
Another beat.
“Yes.”
I exhale slowly, forcing my thoughts into order, forcing them into something usable instead of letting them spiral.
“They’re not reacting to movement; they’re predicting it. Mapping behavior. Controlling flow.”
“Yes.”
That means?—
“They’re not just trying to find us,” I continue. “They’re moving us.”
No answer, but I don’t need one. I see it. The drones above the city. The figures on the ground. The way the paths tighten instead of spread.
“They’re shaping the terrain into a funnel,” I say. “Every choice we make narrows the options they want us to take.”
His gaze flicks to me, brief, but sharp with recognition.
“They’re keeping us away from the others,” I realize.
He blinks slowly, then nods.
“Yes.”
“Then we stop letting them choose,” I add, the conclusion forming as I say it. “We break pattern. Unpredictable movement. Reverse direction. Force them to react instead of?—”
His hand tightens on my arm. Not enough to hurt. Enough to interrupt.
“No.”
The word is flat and immediate. I blink.
“What?”
“Do not reverse.”
