The way Rowan's gaze had locked on a specific line of approach, an angle that would bring someone close to Dax's side through the milling bodies.
Chris didn't look toward the threat. Looking was how you confirmed you'd seen them.
Instead, he did the only thing he could do without turning the entire room into panic.
He moved.
One step closer to Dax, casual enough to be dismissed as affection, close enough that his shoulder brushed Dax's arm. His hand lifted, fingers resting briefly on Dax's forearm like he was anchoring himself there.
Dax's eyes flicked to him.
Chris kept his expression calm, his voice low. "Rowan's signaling."
Dax didn't ask questions.
He just shifted. His stance shifted, almost imperceptible to those who didn't know what to look for. His weight redistributed. His left arm moved just enough to place Chris slightly behind him, half-shielded without making it obvious.
