“Which seat for Eli?” Doc asked Ms. Patel as he turned back, practical tone hiding urgency.
“Row six, aisle,” she said instantly. Even in a storm, she knew the map by heart.
June slid her shoulders through the window. “I need eyes inside. Quick sweep of the floor. Nobody goes alone.”
Bear wrapped the frame with both hands and lowered his stance, making himself a live brace. A firefighter took his place at the next anchor, reading the plan like sheet music and playing the right note.
June disappeared to her waist, then chest. “Floor is clear front to mid,” she called, voice bouncing strange off the bus interior. “Back row—”
Her sentence clipped off, replaced by the thunk of a knee hitting a seat base. The current shoved. The bus tilted a breath and then settled again, caution written in every bolt. “Got him,” she said. “Eli’s here. He’s small and quiet. Eyes open.”
