“And I’m going to use that information from outside, while you remain inside.”
His gaze stayed on mine for one controlled beat, long enough to make the boundary clear.
“Which side of the stairs?” he asked. “Exactly.”
“Left. Third board from the top. It didn’t just step. It lingered.”
Nick didn’t argue. He couldn’t verify the sound or the specific vibration from where he stood, but he could use it. The sound of his sidearm clearing the holster was a dry, mechanical snap.
“Stay where you are.”
I stayed behind the secured opening, one hand on the canvas tie, the other braced against the timber frame. Through the mesh, I watched him move across the deck toward the stairs, placing each boot without a sound.
The boards shifted under his weight. Not loudly. Just enough.
The bush felt different after dark. Intimate, close, full of quiet decisions happening just outside my range of vision.
Nick paused at the top of the stairs. “Direction?” he asked without looking back.
I pointed through the opening. “Left side of the deck. Past the stairs.”
“Distance?”
“Close enough for the boards to carry the vibration.”
His head turned slightly. Not toward me. Toward the dark. “Good.”
He nodded and started down.
The air that slipped through the gap felt electric.
Nick moved through the dark with quiet certainty. He stopped so abruptly the entire deck seemed to obey.
He tilted his head slightly, listening. I stayed still, my breath catching in my throat. The corded muscle of his neck shifted as he tilted his head.
No hesitation. Just small adjustments in balance that kept his weight centered and his attention outward.
“What do leopards usually do in this situation?” I whispered through the opening.
“Watch.”
“Unsettling.”
“They prefer not to waste energy.”
“Practical. I like that in a predator.”
Then something shifted beyond the stairs. Subtle. Just enough to bend the stalks.
Nick stopped instantly.
Through the mesh, his hand lifted. Palm back.
Stay.
I did.
Two small lights appeared in the darkness, floating just above the dark stems.
