SHADOWS OF THE ALPHA
“For the way men like Ronan learn how to make other men do their looking. For how many lenses you can hang in a forest before it stops being a forest.”
“We can break them,” Lyra said, fierce, like breaking was a poem.
“We can,” Vivian said. “And while we break the ones we find, more will be looking.”
I pulled the blind’s flap aside with two fingers. Inside, tucked under the thermos, a notebook. Not much on the first pages—numbers that looked like comfort. On the last, a grid drawn with a ruler and a shaking hand. Dots. Circles. A small X near the place where our east line pretends to be a creek. And in the margin, a little eye. Not in ash. Pencil. Practiced.
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