One heartbeat.
Two.
The silence breathes like a living thing, gaining power with every inhale.
“There is a calmness that descends upon a person in the midst of calamity,” his voice breaks through the silence. “The kind of peace that comes from presence, from instinct. At the boundary of chaos, there’s only noise, distraction—a hundred reasons to run, a hundred possible strategies. But in motion, there are no more questions. Only answers.”
He turns to Seren, eyes locking on her.
Her chest tightens, fear gripping her.
Instinct screams: defend.
Mind screams: run.
Muscles scream: freeze.
Teddy smiles—a feral, menacing thing.
Every nerve ending zings with aliveness that calls to a part of her she does not yet know.
“Fight!” he cries, and he stalks toward her with reckless delight.
Fuck.
But then her heart screams: fight back.
So she moves.
She strides from her line in the dirt, dropping into a low, predatory crouch.
Teddy closes the gap in one stride.
Another.
She braces herself for impact, holding her breath, softening her knees.
He sees it before she even feels herself do it.
The bracing.
The subtle locking of her shoulders. The tiny backward lean through her hips. The instinct toreceiverather thanclaim.
Teddy shifts mid-stride.
He doesn’t collide with her head-on.
He angles.
The movement is almost invisible—a slight rotation through his torso, a change in foot placement, a redirect of force—but the impact hits her off-center anyway. Not crushing. Not overwhelming. Just enough to show her exactly where she’s vulnerable.
Her weight shifts to compensate.
Her heel drags half an inch through the dirt.
Behind her, the line waits.
Silent.
