The helicopter ride to Vancouver should have been all business—tactical briefings, equipment checks, the kind of professional focus that kept people alive in war zones. Instead, I found myself stealing glances at Kai across the cargo bay, watching him methodically clean weapons that were already spotless.
It was a nervous habit I remembered from childhood. Whenever something was eating at him, Kai would find mechanical tasks to occupy his hands while his mind worked through whatever crisis was brewing. Apparently some things never changed.
"You know that rifle's not getting any cleaner," I said, raising my voice over the rotor noise.
He looked up, golden eyes meeting mine for the first time since we'd lifted off from Silver Creek territory. "Keeps my hands busy."
"What's your head doing?"
