Between Brenda and Sirone, the twin strap lines told the rest-they were carrying someone, bound, unhappy, with the weight shared perfectly.
My chest tightened. Not because of the prisoner. Because they still moved like us, even with me missing.
I stayed in shadow, watching for limps, tight shoulders, and scars new and old. Ava's ponytail is shorter. Mia's cheek was marked. Sarian's new knife. Toma's boots are finally broken in. None of them looked up.
Good. No theatrics. Not yet.
They reached the hollow's middle. Brenda raised two fingers; the line halted, spread, and melted into cover. No panic. No hurry. Discipline.
I slid back from the rock lip, lungs quiet. They were here. I'd found them.
The old instincts stirred, rolling their necks, eager. I pressed the cold charm on my wrist until it bit-a reminder, not an activation.
Not yet.
When the last pair disappeared west, I counted to sixty and stood. The forest whispered their trail ahead. I followed, slow and steady, until the wind brought their voices-Brenda's orders, Olivia's pen scratching against her waterproof board, and a laugh that started as Rin's and softened away.
My shoulders rolled once, remembering how to be part of something.
Then I stepped out of the trees and went to meet my squad.
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