Blood and Betrayal
It didn’t fight the cliffside; it grew out of it, a transparent lung breathing in the salt air.
I ran my hand along the railing—smooth, cool steel. There were no hidden compartments here. No biometric scanners disguised as brass plates. Everything was visible. Everything was open.
“You’re doing that thing again,” a voice said from the doorway.
I turned and smiled. Toby was leaning against the frame, a mug of coffee in each hand. He was broader now, his skin bronzed by years of working as a lead instructor at the coastal conservancy he’d helped found. The frantic, jagged energy of the boy who had climbed a mountain with a hunting knife had settled into a deep, quiet strength.