That earns him another tightening of my grip. Not enough to kill. Enough to remind him I can.
“Talk,” I growl.
His gaze flickers—just briefly—to the treeline behind me. Not fear. Measurement. He’s checking distance. Timing. Backup.
“There’s no backup coming,” I tell him flatly.
That pulls a faint smile from him.
“You think I’m worried about backup?” he asks.
A pause. Then he laughs again, low and breathless.
“You’re still thinking in town rules,” he says. “Borders. Lines. Defense.”
My jaw tightens.
“Those are still standing,” I say.
“For now,” he corrects.
Something about the way he says it makes the forest feel colder. I adjust my grip slightly, forcing his attention back to me.
“Where is Damon really?” I demand again.
Felix’s expression shifts. Less amusement now. More focus.
“He’s not hiding,” he says.
“Then what is he doing?”
Felix swallows against my forearm but keeps speaking anyway.
“He’s letting you believe this is the fight,” he says. “Letting you think Redwood Crossing is the prize.”
My instincts flare harder. Because I’ve already felt that wasn’t true. I just haven’t had confirmation.
“You’re wasting time,” I say sharply.
Felix shakes his head slightly against the ground.
“No,” he says. “You are.”
A crack of anger pushes through me, but I force it down. Losing control here helps no one.
“Explain,” I order.
Felix’s breathing steadies just slightly, like he’s settling into something deliberate.
“He doesn’t need the town,” he says. “He needed your attention on it.”
My grip tightens instinctively.
“That doesn’t make sense,” I say.
“It does if you stop thinking like a protector,” Felix replies. “And start thinking like prey.”
That word lands wrong. Sharp. Intentional. I press harder for a moment, forcing a reaction out of him. He coughs, but doesn’t stop talking.
