The trick to watching something without being seen is pretending you’re not watching it at all.
That’s easier said than done when your entire job revolves around watching everything.
The heat presses down hard on the line today, thick enough that it warps the air just above the ground and makes movement on the horizon ripple like it’s not entirely real. The fence hums steady between us, the low vibration settling into my bones as I move through my patrol route, every step measured, every glance accounted for.
I don’t look at him when I pass his position.
Not directly.
Not in a way anyone else would clock.
But I feel him.
Same place. Same posture. Same deliberate stillness that reads as lazy if you don’t know better.
We don’t acknowledge each other.
Not out loud.
Not yet.
That would draw attention.
Instead, I slow near the midpoint of my route, crouching slightly as I run a gloved hand along the base of the fence like I’m checking for structural stress. The metal is warm under my fingers, the faint vibration of the current threading through it steady and unchanged.
“Your left sector’s drifting,” Hrask says from across the fence, his voice pitched just loud enough to sound like casual commentary rather than directed communication.
I don’t look up.
“Your patrol’s early,” I reply, keeping my tone flat. “That’s not standard.”
“Adjustments,” he says.
“Convenient.”
“Timing matters,” he adds, and there’s just enough weight under the words to make it clear he isn’t talking about patrol schedules anymore.
I shift my stance, rising back to my feet as I glance down the line, tracking the movement of both sides.
He’s right.
The pattern’s off.
Coalition units are rotating just slightly ahead of their usual cycle, while ours are lagging by a margin that wouldn’t raise flags on paper but creates gaps in real time.
Overlapping gaps.
That’s not accidental.
“That corridor you mentioned,” I say, keeping my voice low as I step closer to the fence, angling my body like I’m checking alignment. “You see movement?”
“Yeah,” he replies. His claws tap once against his gauntlet before going still again. “Same direction. Same interval.”
“Toward the fence?”
“Every time.”
I follow the line of sight, tracking the angle without turning my head too obviously.
