One is Caleb.
Even from here, I recognize his gait. The false casual way he walks, like he owns the dirt he steps on. Like the world should flinch around him.
My breath goes sharp.
Elias doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.
The second man circles behind Caleb, keeping close. He’s bigger, bulkier. Muscle. Insurance.
They don’t see Elias. Not yet.
I dig my nails into the soft earth beneath me, every instinct screaming to move, to call out. To run.
Then Elias steps forward.
Deliberate. Controlled. And suddenly very, very visible.
Caleb stops short.
His body stiffens, shoulders tightening as if drawn by wires. Even from this distance, I see him freeze. Then his hand twitches to his side. Not all the way. Not a draw.
Just a warning.
Elias doesn’t flinch.
I can't hear the words. But I see Elias speak. One sentence. Maybe two.
Caleb answers with a grin. The kind he used on me. Like the danger was part of the charm.
The man behind Caleb shifts, reaching subtly toward his jacket.
I hold my breath.
But Elias is faster.
His hand moves—a flash of shadow, a shift in stance—and then the second man hits the ground. Hard. I can’t see the weapon. Only the way the man doesn’t get up.
Caleb stumbles back, snarling something. And then Elias is on him.
They collide like a storm splitting open. Not wild. Not chaotic. This is surgical. Calculated.
Elias drives him backward, slamming him into the side of the shack. Caleb swings, lands a hit. Elias barely reacts. Then he counters with an elbow, a knee, something that drops Caleb to the dirt.
It’s fast. Too fast.
And it’s not over.
Elias kneels, one knee pinning Caleb’s neck, and I watch him raise a fist, poised for something final—
My breath breaks.
I don’t look away, not even once.
Elias’s fist hangs in the air for what feels like forever. Time stretches thin around it, like the world is waiting to exhale.
But the blow never lands.
Instead, Elias says something—short, guttural. I can’t make out the words. His voice is low, but sharp. Like he’s spitting broken glass.