A wave ofsomethingrolled through Riot’s body. Warm, low, spreading from his hips outward. Arousal—sudden, sharp, completely disproportionate to anything he’d been thinking or doing. He shifted in his seat and glanced at Cass.
Cass wasn’t looking at him. Cass was staring out the window, twirling his hair, but his cheeks were flushed and the flush was spreading down his neck and his thighs were pressed together and he was absolutely, definitely, thinking about something that had nothing to do with spiritual language.
That’s HIS arousal. I’m feeling HIS arousal.
Riot stared at the road. Adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. Counted to five.
Six. Seven. This is fine. Everything is fine. I am experiencing his emotional states through some kind of impossible pheromonal feedback channel and this is COMPLETELY NORMAL and I’m sure there’s a VERY GOOD EXPLANATION for it.
Eight. Nine. I wonder if this works both ways. I wonder if he can feel what I—
He stopped thinking about that immediately.
They drove. The landscape was changing—less open prairie, more clustered trees, the ghost-outlines of old subdivisions appearing on the horizon. Closer to Springfield. Closer to Elysian territory. Cass went quiet, his hand finding Riot’s on the center console. His grip tightened as the terrain grew familiar.
Riot felt the shift in his own body—a tightness in his throat that wasn’t his, a pressure behind his eyes that belonged to someone else’s grief. Cass recognizing the landscape of his childhood from the outside, and the recognition hurting, and the hurt landing in Riot’s chest like it had nowhere else to go.
He squeezed Cass’s hand.
Cass squeezed back.
The walkie crackled a little after 2 PM.
“Riot.” Sage’s voice had changed into the voice of someone who’d stopped observing and started operating. “I’ve got vehicles ahead. Three, maybe four. Blocking the road at a natural chokepoint where the highway narrows between two overpasses.”
Riot’s hand was already moving to the pack behind his seat. The gesture was instinctive—his body knowing what it needed before his brain caught up.
“Description?”
“Modified trucks. Territorial markings. I can see at least five people, probably more inside the vehicles. They’re armed, but sloppy—rifles visible but not shouldered. This is a toll operation, not an ambush.”
“Can we go around?”
“Negative. The overpasses funnel traffic through a single point. Terrain on either side is impassable—old constructionbarriers and a drainage ditch. They chose this spot because there’s no alternative.”
“So we pay a toll.”
There was a long pause. “This is going to go sideways, Riot.”
Riot looked at Cass. Cass was staring straight ahead at the road, both hands wrapped around his knees. His face had gone pale. He understood what was coming before anyone said it.
“Options,” Riot said.
“One. I find high ground before we get there. If it goes sideways, I’ll already be in position.” She paused. “They haven’t seen me yet. I can split off here, take the access road up the western overpass. Good sightlines, natural cover. If shooting starts, I’ll prioritize anyone near Cass, then suppressive fire on the vehicles.”
“And if it doesn’t go sideways?”
“Then I wasted twenty minutes finding a nice place to lie down. The point is I’m in position BEFORE they see you, not scrambling after.”
Smart. Sage was, Riot was realizing, considerably smarter than she was loud.
“Do it,” Riot said.
“Already turning. Give me ten minutes to set up, then proceed to the checkpoint. Keep your speed casual. And Riot?”
“Yeah?”
“Whatever you’ve got in that pack that makes you look scary—put it on.”
