Afternoon warmth clung to the ridge, painting the grass in copper and gold. For once, the air carried laughter instead of static. Hale had found an old leather ball in one of the abandoned cabins and tossed it from hand to hand, grinning at Jonas.

“Do something with it besides talk,” Hale said.

Jonas caught the ball against his chest, stumbling.

“Fine. Three steps and throw. That’s the rule.”

The toss went wide. Liora ducked dramatically, earning laughter from the group. Maris leaned against a fencepost, arms folded, the hint of a smile softening her guarded expression. For a brief, impossible moment, the ridge felt theirs again — not Reylanda’s, not anyone’s.

Aria stood off to the side, watching, the corners of her mouth lifting. She hadn’t felt lightness like this in weeks. Virel brushed past her shoulder to catch the rebound one-handed, his grin quiet but genuine.

Then Clem’s voice broke through the calm.

“Alert. Movement detected. Southern approach. Three contacts.”

The ball thudded to the dirt, forgotten.

“Locals?” Aria asked.

Virel tapped the edge of his glasses.

“No. Uniform heat signatures. Too clean.”

From the treeline below, three figures stepped into view. Humanitarian insignias marked their armbands — white cloth stitched with Reylanda’s emblem — but their stride gave them away. Packs too heavy for relief work. Boots too new. Eyes too focused.

Maris straightened, jaw tightening.

“Patrols.”

Jonas’s voice dropped.

“They don’t belong here.”

“Careful,” Virel murmured. “They’ll say they’re bringing medicine.”

Clem’s tone sharpened in Aria’s ear.

“Probability: cover story. Objective — locate fugitives, test Avean emergence.”

Laughter vanished. The ridge seemed to inhale and hold its breath. Children watching from doorways slipped quietly out of sight.

Aria stepped forward, her shard-lines flickering faintly beneath her sleeves. The air between her and the patrol thickened — that subtle, electric pressure of recognition. They hadn’t seen her fully yet, but she could feel the moment closing in.

Virel moved beside her, wordless but resolute. His presence steadied her heartbeat. Behind them, Hale and Maris shifted, instinctive, ready.

The agents paused at the clearing’s edge, feigning interest in the solar rigs that gleamed like mechanical trees. But their eyes swept continuously — counting, measuring, hunting.

A single pulse of shardlight slipped through Aria’s sleeve. The tallest agent’s gaze caught it. His head tilted. Realization dawned.

Aria’s breath hitched. Before fear could take hold, Virel’s hand found hers — fingers lacing, grounding her.

Her hoodie slipped from one shoulder, shardlight painting the air between them in soft blue and gold. Clem’s voice came quiet through the comm-link.

“Steady, Aria. Emotional sync holding.”

She looked up into Virel’s storm-gray eyes. They softened, anchoring her in the moment. She leaned in, and their lips met — brief, sure, without hesitation.

When they parted, still hand in hand, the ridge no longer felt fragile. Behind them, the others stood silent — not in surprise, but in understanding.

This wasn’t rebellion anymore. It was belonging.

And if Reylanda stepped closer, they would be ready.