The air still burned faintly, carrying the smell of oil and hot sand.
Nothing moved... and that was part of the problem.
The horizon was flat and wrong, the kind that made every sound feel louder than it should, that made every sound echo around them.
Lachlan stood beside Sera, the Hummer cooling behind them, its metal ticking softly.
The quiet wasn't peace. It was the kind that pressed into your ribs and waited to see what you'd do next.
He could hear Elias breathing somewhere behind the truck, the faint scrape of a wrench, the clink of Zubair's binocular strap. Alexei's voice stayed muted on the comm—listening, not talking.
Sera hadn't spoken since the last report. She watched the line where dust met sky like it might finally give her an answer. Her stillness wasn't calm; it was calculation.
Lachlan's creature stirred, a low pulse under his sternum.
She holds the line. You hold her. That's the shape. Don't drift.
"I'm not," he murmured.
