Havoc muttered, “These bastards know what they’re doing.”
I finally loosened my hold on Nora just enough to see her face.
“Did either of them touch you?”
“No,” she whispered. “But one of them… he tapped on the glass. Like he wanted me to know he was there.”
My jaw flexed so hard it hurt. “He’ll regret that.”
Trigger knelt in the snow near the bootprint and circle, studying it. “The tread is old. Worn. Not standard. Maybe military surplus.”
Havoc joined him. “But not random. He planted that print. Purposefully.”
Trigger nodded. “A challenge.”
“No,” I said. “A threat.”
I turned back to Nora. “We’re moving. Now.”
Tate nodded firmly. “Agreed. County bunker. I’ll escort.”
But Saint’s voice came in sharp over comms:
“Hold. Guys—you need to see this. Sending now.”
My tablet buzzed.
A new image appeared—grainy, infrared, taken from a feed near the forest edge behind the tavern.
Two figures.
One tall.
One broader.
Both dressed in dark clothing.
The taller one lifted something to his face—
A phone.
Or a radio.
Then—
He looked directly at the camera.
Even in infrared, the intensity was unmistakable.
Saint’s voice lowered. “Wolf… he knew where the cameras were. He looked straight at one like he wanted to be seen.”
Trigger’s face darkened. “Cocky bastard.”
“No,” I said. “Calculated.”
Havoc zoomed the image. “What’s in his hand?”
Saint adjusted the contrast.
