The leader flicked two fingers. The rightmost rider began to angle for the JLTV's exposed flank. Lyra's arrow arrived in the dirt two inches from his horse's hoof, quivering like a finger. The horse snorted, danced sideways. The rider grabbed mane to stay aboard.
"Second warning," Lyra said from the trees. "There won't be a third."
The leader's smile frayed. "You don't want to make this—"
"Loud?" Inigo supplied. He drew a smooth breath and palmed a small cylinder from his vest—a flashbang. He held it between forefinger and thumb where every eye could see it. "You like ambushes," he said conversationally. "I like physics."
"What's that?" one of the brigands asked, curiosity burning through discipline.
"Something bright and disappointing," Inigo said, and lobbed it thirty feet to the side, into a hollow where it would do nothing but hurt.
