The spy didn't say a word for the next half hour.
Lucas didn't push him. He walked like it was any other day—bag slung over one shoulder, blade at his hip, steps lazy but deliberate. Every few paces, he'd glance back to make sure the cord was still tight, the spy still being dragged.
Ava walked ahead, system pinging every thirty seconds, scanning for heat signatures, motion shifts, energy trails. Nothing. Just empty blocks of rotting concrete and fractured memory.
"You know," Lucas said casually, eyes still forward, "this is quite the civil walk."
The spy said nothing.
Ava didn't even turn.
Lucas kept going. "You could make it easier, you know. Say you're defecting. Tell us half truth, play the poor-scout with a sick mom card. I'd almost believe it." He paused. "Almost."
Ava's system flickered—then pinged.
[MUTANT ENERGY – LOW-LEVEL – NON-HOSTILE DIRECTIONAL SHIFT – 4 O'CLOCK]
She raised a hand slightly. Lucas stopped without question.
The spy didn't.
