"No." I grab the rifle, check the chamber. "Get in the bedroom. Interior walls, away from windows. If this goes bad, you go out the back and head for the tree line."
"Finn, I'm not leaving you to face this alone."
"You're not leaving me alone. You're maintaining operational flexibility so we don't both get pinned down in the same location." I keep my voice calm, matter-of-fact. "This is tactics, not protection. If something happens to me, you need freedom of movement to either fight or extract. Can't do that if you're trapped in the same room."
She holds my gaze for three seconds, then nods and moves toward the bedroom. Smart enough to recognize sound tactical thinking even when emotion wants to override it.
The vehicle stops outside. One door opens and closes. Footsteps approach the porch, confident but not aggressive.Someone who doesn't expect immediate threat but isn't stupid enough to be careless.
I position myself where I can see the door but maintain cover from the kitchen counter. Rifle pointed low, finger outside the trigger guard. Ready but not overtly threatening.
The knock is polite. Three raps, evenly spaced.
"Hello? Anyone home? I'm sorry to bother you, but I think I'm lost."
The accent is faint but present. Eastern European, refined by years of living elsewhere. English is excellent but not native. The voice is male, middle-aged, confident.
I recognize the performance. Lost tourist routine. Harmless traveler seeking assistance. Every instinct screams predator.
I open the door, keeping the rifle visible but pointed down. "Help you with something?"
The man on my porch looks exactly like he should. Late forties, average height, expensive outdoor gear that's too clean to have seen real use. Rental SUV visible behind him, white Toyota 4Runner with Anchorage plates. His eyes tell a different story. Cold calculation behind the friendly concern. Real-time assessment happening, cataloging threats, evaluating defenses.
"I apologize for the intrusion." He gestures toward the car with a self-deprecating smile. "I think the GPS took me down the wrong road. Trying to get to Glacier Hollow, but I may have missed a turn."
"Yeah, easy to do. Main road is back the way you came. Take the fork east when you hit the old mining marker." I keep my posture relaxed, voice helpful. Just a guy who lives out here giving directions to lost travelers. "Can't miss it if you're paying attention."
"Thank you, I appreciate it." He doesn't move to leave. "Beautiful property. You live here year-round?"
"Most of the time. Run supply routes through the backcountry, so I'm gone a few days a week." I shift slightly, subtle body language that says conversation is over and he should be leaving. "Roads get tricky this time of year. You'll want to head out before afternoon when the sun starts melting the top layer."
"Of course." His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "You live alone out here? Seems isolated."
"Prefer it that way. Quiet. Good for thinking." I let a beat pass. "You should probably get going. Weather can change fast in the mountains."
"Indeed." He steps back, hands visible and non-threatening. "Thank you for the directions. And if I may ask, have you seen any other travelers? I'm supposed to meet someone in the area, but communications have been difficult."
"Haven't seen anyone. Like I said, it's pretty isolated out here." I meet his gaze steadily. "Your friend probably went to Glacier Hollow directly. That's where most people end up."
"Perhaps you're right." He nods once, polite and final. "I won't take up more of your time. Enjoy your day."
He returns to the car, movements unhurried. Starts the engine, backs around, heads down the access road the way he came. I stay in the doorway until the sound fades completely, counting to sixty before I move.
Cara emerges from the bedroom the moment I close the door. "Who was that?"
"Professional. Too polished for a lost tourist, too interested in whether I live alone, asking about other travelers in the area." I set the rifle down, move to the window to scan the tree line. "He was probing. Trying to determine if you're here, what kind of defenses we have, whether I'm a threat."
"Did he buy the supply runner routine?"
"Maybe. Hard to tell with that level of professional. He got what he came for either way. Confirmation of the cabin's location, assessment of immediate threats, baseline for planning whatever comes next." I turn away from the window, face her fully. "He'll be back. With backup or alone if he thinks he can handle it. Either way, we're blown."
"Then we move." She's already pulling out a map, spreading it on the table. "You said you know places in the backcountry. Show me."
I lean over the map, pointing to a location about fifteen miles northeast. "Old hunting camp. Abandoned for years, but the main cabin is solid. Two stories, defensible positions, clear sight lines in all directions. Off any maintained road, accessible only by ATV or on foot this time of year."
"How long to get there?"
"Several hours by snowmobile with gear. Longer if we're being careful about tracks." I trace the route with my finger. "We can stage from here, make it look like normal supply prep, then slip out after dark. Anyone watching will think we're just reorganizing."
