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“Yes.”

“Your list.”

“My list.” She took it in without making it loud. “Is that standard procedure?”

“It’s my procedure.”

Her gaze from two feet away was unmistakable. Not alarmed, not grateful. Warmer than that, private, and not what he’d call comfortable, because comfortable things didn’t make his chest do what it was doing.

“Okay.”

He was going to need a serious conversation with himself. Later.

Behind him, Pike came out from the boulder and took stock: shoulder first, radio second, then a visual sweep that landed on Tor’s arm and its decidedly non-standard-issue bandage, and on Mirelle, half a step closer than before. The sweep stayed there. Pike upgraded from injured to extremely entertained. Drayce approached, eyes flickering between Mirelle and Tor. His face gave away several things. Tor ignored them all.

Pike opened his mouth. His eyes were on the scarf wrapped around Tor’s forearm, and Drayce put a hand on Pike’s shoulder without turning. Pike closed his mouth. His face alone communicated that he was exercising extraordinary self-restraint and wanted credit for it.

Tor respected this decision.

Maelin arrived from the right flank, ran his post-combat inventory, and eyed the pillar. “Supplementary rotation begins tomorrow.”

“Tonight.”

Maelin’s eyes went to him, then to the pillar. He updated his estimate and pulled out his radio without another word.

Mirelle had moved three feet toward the pillar during this exchange — not dramatic, pure Mirelle. She faced the fracture line, eyes narrowed and mouth flat, running analysis.

“The creature did not try to go through the boundary. It went for the anchor.”

“Yes,” Tor said.

“That’s coordinated. That’s not random Rift behavior.”

“No.”

She turned. “Who’s running them?”

“Working on it.”

“Is it that man?” She had followed the same logic Tor had.

“Maybe he’s part of it. We don’t have the full picture yet.”

“But you’re close.”

“Getting there.” She nodded. He saw her decide not to push it and respected that, even as every instinct wanted to give her everything he knew, which was not how operational security worked. “Go home. Not alone.”

“I can —”

“Pike.”

Pike was there; he’d seen this coming. “I’m delightful company. Ask anyone.”

“I’ve been asking.” Mirelle fell into step. “The data’s mixed.”

“The outliers skew the average.” He walked beside her. “I’ll explain on the way.”

Mirelle glanced back at Tor once before they turned south. His eyes were already on her, and he wasn’t going to pretend otherwise. Her scarf still hung on his arm, dark against his jacket, and her eyes lingered there for a beat before she turned away. He stayed where he was until the cliff path bent and the darkness took them. Then he turned back to the cracked pillar, pulled out his phone, and started dialing. His arm was already closing beneath the scarf. He’d return it later. Tomorrow, maybe, when he had an excuse.