Rain fell harder now.
Not nature's rain—but Toren's.
The upgraded storm array buzzed with layered pulses, transmitting controlled electrostatic discharges through the upper canopy. It didn't look much different to the naked eye—just darker skies, heavier mist—but the sensor data told another story entirely.
Storm Veil Density: 67%
Infrared Disruption: 83%
Electromagnetic Scatter: 76%
Artificial Signatures: Deployed – 4 false thermal nodes active
Mira stomped into the control hub, soaked to the elbows, tossing a water-logged poncho aside.
"You're really gonna fry the air, huh?" she muttered, yanking open a side panel.
"I'm not frying," Toren said, scanning power balances, "I'm blurring."
Wess entered next, hauling a bundle of foil-wrapped emitter rods.
"Dropped the last decoy coil in the ravine. If that doesn't fool a satellite, nothing will."
Mira grumbled, "This won't hold if they go active-scan. We're buying minutes, not safety."
Toren glanced at her. "That's all we need."
She stared at him, searching for cracks.
"Why are you so calm about this?"
"I'm not," he said, deadpan. "I'm just too tired to panic creatively."
She barked a laugh—short, humorless.
Wess grinned despite himself. "If we live through this, drinks are on you."
Toren didn't answer.
He was already watching the probe's descent vector close in.
One shot. One pass.
And no do-overs.