Chapter 22 Trigger
Trigger
Trigger didn’t rush the decision.
That was the trick.
Men who panicked left trails. Men who hurried made mistakes. Thomas would be expecting speed now—desperation, urgency, fear.
Trigger gave him none of that.
He finished pulling Rylie up the embankment, steadying her until her footing was secure, then paused. Listened again. Counted heartbeats.
“They think we’re still running west,” he said quietly.
Rylie wiped her hands on her jeans. “But we’re not.”
“No,” he agreed. “We’re going to let them think they’re right.”
He shifted his pack and deliberately reached down, pulling out the folded thermal blanket. Without hesitation, he tore off a strip and wrapped it around a low branch near the ravine’s edge—right where spray and mud would catch it.
A breadcrumb.
Rylie’s eyes widened. “You’re leaving a sign.”
“Yes,” he said calmly. “A convincing one.”
He moved a few steps downstream, scuffing the mud just enough to look sloppy. Human. Tired. Then he stepped back onto clean rock and erased their real path with water.
When he returned to her side, his expression had changed.
Focused. Intent.
“This is where we slow them down,” he murmured. “And pull their attention off you.”
Off me.
She touched his arm. “Trigger—”
He covered her hand with his, firm and grounding. “I’m not disappearing. I’m controlling where they look.”
She studied his face, searching for recklessness.
She didn’t find it.
She found certainty.
“Tell me what you need from me,” she said.
That—right there—nearly undid him.
“You stay exactly where I put you,” he replied. “If anything feels wrong, you move uphill and don’t stop until you hit rock.”
“And you?”
“I’ll be loud,” he said grimly. “Just enough.”
He guided her behind a cluster of fallen trees and rock, tucking her into cover that broke sightlines and muffled sound.
“Rylie,” he said quietly, crouching in front of her. “Look at me.”
She did.
“If this goes sideways,” he continued, “you don’t come after me.”
Her jaw set. “That’s not—”
“Promise me,” he said firmly. “You survive. That’s the mission.”
Her chest rose and fell once.
“I promise,” she said finally.
He held her gaze a second longer—then leaned in and pressed his forehead to hers.
“Good,” he murmured. “Because I plan on ending this.”
Then he stood.
And deliberately stepped back toward the ravine.
He didn’t move like a ghost now.
He moved like a man who wanted to be seen.
A snapped branch.
A scrape of boot on stone.
Just enough noise to whisper here.
Trigger felt it almost immediately—the shift. The pressure in the air. The sense of eyes sliding into place.
They took the bait.
He let them.
He moved west, just as planned, leaving a trail that looked rushed and imperfect. Any tracker worth their salt would see it and smile.
That smile would cost them.
From her hiding place, Rylie watched him go, heart pounding—not with fear, but awe.
He wasn’t running anymore.
He was leading them exactly where he wanted.
And somewhere behind them, Thomas was about to realize he’d chased the wrong man into the wrong terrain.