Mud sprayed.
Branches snapped.
For a split second—
I thought I had him.
Then—
He vanished.
Completely.
Into darkness and trees and thick, icy silence.
Trigger caught up beside me, panting. “Where the hell did he—?”
Havoc scanned the ground. “Tracks go… nowhere. They just stop.”
“He doubled back,” Saint murmured. “Or climbed. Or—”
“No,” I whispered.
Because in the silence of the woods, the wind carrying only the faint rustle of pines—
Something caught my eye.
A single footprint.
Perfect.
Deliberate.
Placed backward.
Trigger’s eyes widened. “He’s messing with us.”
“He’s calculated,” Saint said.
“He’s trained,” I corrected quietly.
And that chilled every one of them.
Because they understood what I meant.
This wasn’t a man stumbling through obsession.
This was someone with discipline.
Patience.
Stealth.
A hunter’s mind.
Trigger exhaled hard. “Wolf… we didn’t lose some amateur tonight.”
“No,” I said, staring into the dark. “We lost someone who knows exactly how to disappear.”
