In a heartbeat they closed the distance. Linda drew an arrow midstride, her expression unreadable as she attempted to read Damian's tiny shifts and tells. She sharpened her senses—tracking the faintest change in his breathing, in his stance.
I can predict him, she thought confidently. She loosed a string of arrows, each one streaking toward Damian with expert precision.
Damian moved like water—soft, precise, untouchable. He dodged with minimal motion, and whatever openings Linda thought she saw collapsed before she could take full advantage. Her arrows thudded into the ground, into trees, or hissed past harmlessly.
She jumped back, reassessing. How am I supposed to land one on him? she wondered. His timing is off the charts.
From the side, Nolan watched closely. Damian kept his movements restrained, not wanting to overwhelm her, yet even that restraint made him dangerously difficult to read.
