Chapter 21 · No Guns, No Mercy

Cole's hand is still on the sat phone when Ivy yanks it away.

"Who was that."

Not a question. Her voice is flat, surgeon-flat, the kind she uses right before she cuts into someone without anesthetic because there's no time and the bleeding won't stop on its own.

Cole doesn't answer. He's running the math. The Watcher said no guns, no Day Four. That means the sniper round at dusk is off the table—maybe. Or it means something worse is coming and the usual script doesn't apply anymore. Either way, bringing Ivy to a meet with no backup is the kind of call that gets people killed.

Except he's been killing her for eighty-three loops by not making calls like this.

"Cole." She steps closer. The cargo bay is cramped, all steel ribs and tie-down hooks, and the helo's engine is still ticking as it cools. Nail and the others are outside setting perimeter. It's just the two of them in here, and the air smells like gun oil and the cold medicinal sting of the antiseptic she uses on everything. "You're doing it again."

"Doing what."

"Deciding for me." Her jaw is tight.