Chapter 52 Rylie
Rylie
The forest went wrong.
Not louder.
Not quieter.
Wrong.
The air shifted, pressure settling low in my chest like a held breath that wouldn’t release. Birds stilled. Wind died mid-rustle. Even the man watching me—the runner—changed.
I saw it in his posture.
He straightened. Listened to something only he could hear. His jaw tightened just a fraction, like a decision had been made somewhere else.
That’s when I knew.
This wasn’t about me anymore.
My pulse spiked, but I didn’t move. Panic would give him exactly what he wanted. Instead, I tilted my head slightly, as if curious rather than alert.
“Something changed,” I said.
He didn’t answer.
Didn’t have to.
I felt it ripple outward, the same way you feel a storm break miles away before the rain ever reaches you.
Thomas had played his next card.
And it wasn’t here.
My mind raced—not wildly, but fast and sharp. If I were him, if I were losing control of the board, I’d shift the threat somewhere Trigger couldn’t ignore.
Somewhere soft.
Somewhere sacred.
My stomach dropped.
“No,” I whispered before I could stop myself.
The runner’s eyes flicked up, sharp now. Assessing. Curious.
“What is it?” he asked.
I met his gaze fully for the first time. “You just made a mistake.”
His mouth twitched. “Did we?”
“Yes,” I said, certainty flooding me cold and clean. “Because if you think pulling him away from me will save you—”
I shook my head.
“You don’t understand him at all.”
The runner lifted his hand toward his earpiece.
I stepped forward—just one pace. Enough to matter.
“If anyone gets hurt,” I said quietly, “he won’t choose.”
That stopped the runner.
“Choose what?” he asked.
“Between them and me,” I replied. “He’ll take you apart piece by piece.”
Silence stretched between us.
Somewhere behind me—farther back than before—I felt it again.
Intent.
Trigger.
He was close.
Which meant whatever Thomas had just done was big enough to pull at him from a distance.
I drew a slow breath, grounding myself.
Think like him.
Thomas didn’t want Trigger to leave me.
He wanted Trigger to hesitate.
And hesitation was deadly.
I reached into my pocket and turned on my phone—not for coordinates this time.
For one name.
Trigger.
I didn’t wait for the connection to stabilize. I didn’t wait for a signal bar.
I sent three words.
It’s not me.
Then I powered the phone off again and lifted my chin.
The runner’s radio crackled softly.
Orders are coming in.
Good.
That meant Thomas was nervous.
And nervous men made mistakes.
I shifted my stance, readying myself—not to run, not to fight, but to hold.
Because if Thomas had decided to threaten Wolf, Nora, and a newborn baby…
Then he had just crossed the one line that ended this.
And Trigger?
He was already moving.