“Sure you did,” I reply, stepping back.
I leave them there, but I carry the image with me as I make my way back toward the surface, letting the pieces settle into place even if they do not form a complete picture yet.
By the time I step back into the open air, the heat settles over me again, dry and relentless. The wind drags dust along the ground in thin sheets that catch against my boots and swirl around my legs before moving on. The fence hums steady, unchanged, a constant in the middle of everything else shifting just out of alignment.
She is already there, exactly where she always is, posture locked, eyes scanning with that same precise control she wears like armor. The moment she sees me, something in her expression sharpens, not surprise, not irritation, but focus.
I walk toward my position across from her, letting my pace stay easy, unhurried.
“You find him yet?” I call out, my tone light enough to sound casual even as I watch her closely.
Her gaze snaps to mine immediately, her attention locking in with the same intensity I have come to expect.
“No,” she says, her voice flat and controlled. Her hand hovers near her weapon, not gripping it, but close enough to remind me it is there. “Did you?”
I shrug one shoulder, letting the motion roll through my frame.
“I asked around,” I say.
“And?” she presses, stepping closer to the fence.
“And people don’t like talking,” I reply.
“That’s not an answer,” she says, her eyes narrowing.
“It’s the only one I’ve got.”
She studies me, searching for something behind my words, something that will confirm what she already believes.
“You’re holding back,” she says.
I tilt my head slightly.
“From you?” I ask. “Always.”
“Don’t,” she snaps, her tone sharpening. “If you found something, you tell me.”
“Or what?” I ask, watching her closely.
She bristles, her shoulders squaring.
“Or I assume you’re part of whatever this is,” she says.
That draws a quiet, rough chuckle from me.
“Careful,” I say, stepping a fraction closer. “You’re starting to accuse without evidence.”
“You think I need evidence?” she fires back. “You show up, he disappears, and suddenly nobody knows anything. That’s not coincidence.”
“Could be,” I say.
“It’s not.”
Her certainty lands harder than her anger.
“You always jump this fast?” I ask.
“I don’t jump,” she says. “I assess.”
