Chapter 64 The Clock Is Running
THE CLOCK IS RUNNING
Breakfast - Dove Cameron
Bones
Our second room feels smaller than the first. Not by square footage exactly, but by intention.
Two double beds shoved too close together, a single jammed against the far wall like an afterthought, barely enough space to move without brushing someone’s shoulder.
Bags piled beneath the desk. Clothes Honey grabbed from a local shop folded wherever they’ll fit.
The air is crowded with bodies and vigilance and things no one’s saying out loud.
Kayla stands just inside the door, taking it in. Guilt flickers across her face before she smooths it away.
“I feel bad,” she says quietly. “You’re all crammed in here while he and I—”
Snow snorts. “Easy fix. We rotate. You share.”
Nightshade hits him without looking.
Not hard – just enough to send Snow stumbling a step sideways with a sharp oath.
Yeah, that’s not happening.
“Focus,” I say flatly.
That shuts it down.
Kayla exhales through her nose, relief threaded through it.
She steps forward and perches on the edge of the nearest bed, posture loose but attentive.
Nightshade takes position just behind her shoulder – not looming, not hovering.
Present. The kind of proximity that reads instinctive rather than territorial, though the difference is mostly academic.
I take the scanner from the desk.
It doesn’t scream.
That’s the first thing I notice – and the thing I like least.
It hums softly in my hand, a low, almost polite vibration. Cooperative. Non-networked, Tex promised. Dumb by design. No outbound capability, no curiosity beyond what it’s built to read.
Which means if it’s quiet, whatever it’s looking at is behaving.
Or absent.
I wait until Kayla looks at me before I bring it closer.
“What are we looking for?” she asks.
“Anything that answers questions we haven’t asked yet,” I say. “Or confirms the ones we have.”
She nods once. No hesitation. That alone is data.
I start at the obvious place – the back of her neck.
Nothing. No spike. No rhythm. Clean.
Snow lets out a slow breath. I realise I do too.
I sweep lower, slow and methodical.
Still nothing.
“Original tracker’s gone,” I say. “Removed. Cleanly.”
Nightshade’s jaw tightens.
The scanner hums again as I pass beneath Kayla’s arm.
This time it chirps.
Short. Sharp. Unmistakable.
Kayla stiffens. Nightshade swears.
“That’s mine,” he says immediately.
Every head turns, wanting to watch the fall out.
She twists in place, eyes sharp. “Yours?”
He doesn’t look away. “Yes.”
No apology. No justification.
“Why?” she demands.
“Does it matter?” he replies. “It allowed us to find you, didn’t it?”
She studies him for a long beat, then nods once. “We’re discussing that later.”
Fair.
I move on.
Chest. Spine. Abdomen.
Nothing.
Confusion tightens the room.
“This doesn’t make sense,” Honey mutters. “If our theory’s right, they must have tagged her—”
“Check my feet,” Kayla says suddenly, toeing off her shoes and pulling her socks free.
Every head snaps back to her.
“What?” Snow asks.
“I had a dream,” she says calmly. “Early on. Fire. Itching. Between my toes. Like something was under my skin. Gnawing.”
The room stills.
I crouch and sweep the scanner along her ankle.
Nothing.
Then between her toes.
The scanner lights up.
Not loud. Not frantic.
Bright. Certain.
There it is.
The hum shifts – patterned now. Deliberate. Low-level, intermittent, pulsed just slowly enough to look like background noise if you weren’t paying attention.
It isn’t broadcasting constantly.
It checks in. Pauses. Waits.
Like something patient.
My jaw tightens.
“Bones?” Honey asks.
“It’s not transmitting continuously,” I say. “It’s polling.”
Snow stiffens. “Meaning?”
“Meaning it doesn’t care where she is until something changes,” I reply. “Then it asks and draws a location.”
Hatchet’s expression darkens. Nightshade’s voice is tightly controlled. “Changes how?”
I lower the scanner. “Stability.”
Silence spreads.
Kayla’s fingers curl lightly into her trousers. Focused. Present.
“So rest triggered it,” she says.
“Yes.”
Snow swears. “That’s insane.”
“No,” I correct. “It’s efficient. And it makes perfect sense if you think about it.” I power the scanner down. “Panic floods the signal. Movement creates noise. Stress scrambles everything.”
“And calm doesn’t,” Ghost says quietly from the corner.
I nod. “Calm sharpens it.”
Understanding settles – slow and precise.
“They didn’t track the escape,” Honey says. “They waited for the landing.”
“Yes.”
“They’re not watching to stop me,” Kayla says. “They’re watching to learn.”
“Correct.”
Her gaze lifts. Thoughtful. Not afraid.
I check the scanner’s internal clock, do the maths.
“Thirty-six to forty-eight hours before the next poll,” I say. “Maybe less now.”
“Cut it out,” Honey snaps, flick knife flashing into his hand.
I shake my head. “We can’t. They’ll know.”
Snow’s hands clench. “So we move. Now.”
“That’s one option.” My tone gives away that I don’t think it’s a good idea.
“And the other?” Nightshade asks.
I don’t like it.
Which usually means it’s necessary.
“We stay visible,” I say. “But wrong.”
Kayla tilts her head. “Explain.”
“Running is predictable,” I reply. “Disappearing creates data. Routes. Stress responses. Decision-making under pressure. You’ll be feeding them data continuously.”
“And staying doesn’t?” Snow snaps.
“Not if you choose where,” I say. “Not if you pick a variable they don’t model cleanly.”
Ghost straightens. “A known location with unstable assumptions.”
I nod.
The room holds its breath.
“The island,” Kayla says quietly.
No one argues – though several look like they want to.
Kayla doesn’t smile. Something sharp and resolute settles into her posture.
“They stopped chasing me,” she says. “That tells me everything.”
Nightshade watches her like he’s deciding whether to stand in front of the future – or walk into it with her.
“This isn’t a commitment,” I say carefully. “Not yet.”
She meets my gaze. “We have time to choose,” she says. “That’s all.”
She’s right.
I power the scanner on one last time.
The rhythm hasn’t changed.
Yet.
Which means the clock is running.
And this time, she knows it too.