Carrying something between them.
No—someone.
The shape is slumped, unmoving, partially obscured, but the outline is unmistakable.
Transport.
I watch them pass, their footsteps echoing softly in the confined space.
This isn’t just surveillance manipulation.
This is extraction.
The moment they disappear from view, I move back the way I came, retracing my steps with the same alacrity, my mind racing ahead of me.
By the time I slip back out of the blind zone, the commotion at the fence has escalated into a full argument.
Hrask stands squared off against the other soldier, his posture loose but ready, his voice carrying just enough to keep attention locked on him.
“You want to say that again?” he’s saying, his tone edged with something dangerous.
“I said you’re out of line,” the other soldier snaps.
“Funny,” Hrask replies. “I was thinking the same about you.”
Their voices overlap, tension spiking just enough to keep everyone focused on them instead of anything else.
I step back into my patrol route like I never left it.
Like I was never gone.
Our eyes meet for a fraction of a second.
Just long enough.
He knows.
I know he knows.
The argument breaks shortly after, the other soldier backing off under the weight of attention, the moment dissolving as quickly as it formed.
Hrask steps back, rolling his shoulders like it was nothing.
Like it didn’t matter.
Like he didn’t just cover for me.
I make another pass down the line before stopping across from him again, the fence humming between us.
“You’re reckless,” I say quietly.
“You’re welcome,” he replies.
“That wasn’t part of the plan.”
“You didn’t give me a plan.”
I exhale slowly, the tension still tight in my chest.
