A lieutenant two positions down the line made the wrong choice to be seen.

He took one step into the lane and tipped his chin toward Sera like he was measuring the space she’d take if she were cargo instead of a person.

Rafael didn’t lift his hand. He didn’t need to.

The nearest top gun reached out and touched the man’s shoulder with two fingers. The lieutenant looked at the hand, the gunner’s flat eyes, and stepped back.

The loudspeaker rattled again. "Captain, confirm: you have secured the span and your market remains uncontested."

"Confirmed," Rafael answered.

"Then you’ll do the General a favor. You will log that favor with your next tithe." Dry. Unbothered. The voice moved on before the echo hit the far rail. "Convoy moving through. Do not follow. Do not crowd. Keep the lane on my mark."

"Copy," Rafael returned, like it was the easiest promise he’d make all day.

The lead rig rolled.

It passed within a yard of Sera.

The driver didn’t turn his head.

He didn’t need to.

He had mirrors for that, and men for the rest. The blue mast on the second truck flexed once as the wind coming up from the river found it.

Sera didn’t shift her feet. She watched the second driver’s hands on the wheel. He held it light but not lazy—palms at nine and three, thumbs out, no adrenaline shake. Professional in a world that had very few of those left.

Rafael leaned half an inch closer so only she would hear him. "Some men still know how to be part of a machine without needing to be the machine."

She kept her eyes on the rig. "And some machines forget they’re meant to serve men."

"Which is why he inspects in person when he can." Rafael’s tone held something that might pass for pride in daylight. "He’ll want to meet you before long."

"I’ll be there when I choose," she said, nodding her head. "Not when a horn calls."

He could be a good friend, if she was interested in that sort of thing.

"Fair," he allowed, the scar at his mouth shifting with the ghost of a smile. "You’ll get farther in a day than most do in a month if you keep south on the levee and cut at the dead water tower. Don’t camp near the silos. There are rats and worse."

Elias, hearing, adjusted the folded map under his arm with a nod.

The second rig cleared the last of the plates. Men on the barricade exhaled like a wave.

A runner jogged to Rafael with a ledger and a pencil, ready to log the favor owed whether he wanted it or not. Rafael took it, scrawled a line, and handed it back without looking.

The loudspeaker chirped. "Captain, one more."

"Go."

"Your southern dog pens—swap the mesh panel on the river side for solid sheet. We dragged a kid out last week. Claws through chain."

Sera didn’t look at Rafael. He didn’t look at her. Both of them lifted their eyes to the same lieutenant on the roof who had shouted smoke, and that man looked like he had just learned he wasn’t the only one who paid attention.

"Logged," Rafael replied.

The rigs picked up speed. The white flag disappeared past the last barricade post. Engines settled into that long-haul tone that carried a city’s worth of weight and a rulebook no one reading it had written.

"Back to normal," Rafael called, which meant nothing about this place was normal and everyone understood it.

Work restarted.

The barricade took its shape back with small, efficient sounds—wrench, chain, boot, breath. The young man with the coil kept his eyes down and his hands busy. A man with a scar across his scalp checked the sight on a rifle and put it away clean.

Someone passed a canteen and didn’t linger waiting for thanks.

Sera turned to go. Rafael’s voice reached her shoulder, lower than before. "You wanted solid wall for the pens."

"Yes."

"You just got me three men to argue with, and I’ll win, because you’re right." He didn’t grin when he said it. He didn’t reach for a friendship that he hadn’t earned yet. "If you hit the floodplain again, take the west ridge. The ground tends to be a bit more stable."

She jerked her chin once. "We’ll keep to our side of the ledger."

"And I’ll keep to mine," he returned.

Zubair had the truck doors open before she reached them. Elias stowed the map where it would survive another crash. Alexei checked the tie-downs with quick tugs that made the straps sing. Lachlan clapped the young chain-carrier on the shoulder as he passed and stole a grin out of him like it was nothing.

Luci jumped into the cab and turned once, settling with his head on Sera’s thigh as if that’s where the road started.

The loudspeaker on the back rig barked one last line from the far end of the span, already distant. It was for Rafael, not for her. "South lanes clear to the water tower. After that, the road belongs to whatever wants it more."

"Copy," Rafael answered, and then to Sera, softer: "I’ll remember our ledger."

"Do that."

Zubair slid behind the wheel. The engine caught and smoothed. Smoke curled from a rag that had been a fuse and had lost the argument. The barricade crew stepped back as one, leaving a lane just wide enough for pride to pass without scraping.

Sera put her hand on the door frame and looked once across the span. The placard she’d dropped lay face down in the puddle, letters hidden. The puddle rippled with the last push of the convoy’s wake. Somewhere downriver, the sound of chains faded into wind.

"South," she told them.

But before they could move, the world around them seemed to explode.

A runner skidded down the stairs from the roof, boots slapping steel, eyes too wide.

He didn’t shout at first. He bent to the captain, put his mouth close, and spilled whatever he had left of calm into two simple words.

Rafael’s head tilted a degree and Sera could have sworn that she saw his face become pale under the bandana and glasses.

When he nodded his head, the runner straightened, cupped his hands around his mouth, and found the volume button.

"Five minutes! We have five minutes!"