And for one second—
One—
Everything fractures.
Balance.
Control.
Position.
The exact second he needed.
Logan
I lose ground.
Not fully—
But enough.
Scout slips from my grip—
Not far—
Not gone—
But separated.
And that—
That’s all it takes.
Gunfire erupts.
Controlled.
Targeted.
Not to kill.
To divide.
“Scout!”
Scout
I hit hard, rolling, already moving, already reorienting—
Pain registers.
Ignored.
Gunfire cuts through the space above—
Not aimed to hit.
Aimed to control.
