The night never settles after Kian’s message, not in the way it should, and even before the retrieval teams are fully assembled I can feel it crawling under my skin, that low, persistent sense that we are being steered rather than reacting. The packhouse hums with movement, boots on stone, quiet voices, clipped confirmations passed hand to hand, and I move through it all like I’m walking inside a held breath, aware that every step forward is narrowing our margin for error.
I am not leading the operation, and I am not sidelined either, placed deliberately where Adam and Justin agreed I would be most useful without becoming the obvious focal point, but that distinction feels thinner now than it did on paper. The bond is tight and alert beneath my ribs, not pulling but angled, like a compass
