They rode the river like a wound—slow, slick, and inevitable. Dawn seeped gray and reluctant across the hull, painting the water in bruises. Cain watched it from the bow, coat pulled tight, and let the river tell him what it wanted. It said nothing he didn't already know: distance buys time; time bends men.
"Outpost's ahead," Steve said without looking up from the comm board, voice thin with static. "Three structures on the lee. One looks active. Scanners show movement. Light signatures are small, localized—defensive, not public."
"Defensive's better than hostile," Roselle said, checking the chamber of her pistol with a practiced slide. "Defensive means someone's trying to hold ground. Hostile means they're ready to kill us on sight."
Susan spat into the water, a dark line that vanished into the current. "Either way, we don't stroll up with a flag and a smile."
