thewaitingkind.
Havoc took position outside.
Trigger posted at the back approach.
Saint jammed signals and began constructing a digital maze designed to look sloppy, vulnerable.
Deliberate mistakes.
Bait.
Sheriff Tate left just before midnight to coordinate deputies who could be trusted. The rest of the world thought Nora Carver was sedated in a hospital room two counties away.
She wasn’t.
She stood at the window of the lodge, arms wrapped around herself, staring out at the dark tree line like it might stare back.
I crossed the room slowly, not wanting to startle her.
“You don’t have to do this,” I said quietly. “We can change the plan.”
She shook her head. “No. I don’t want to run anymore.”
That stopped me.
She turned to face me then — not afraid, not shaking — resolved.
“They tried turn me into something once,” she said. “Without asking. Without caring what it would cost.”
My chest tightened.
“I don’t let them decide what happens to me again.”
I stepped closer. “Nora—”
“I trust you,” she said, cutting me off. “That’s why I’m doing this.”
It was the single most dangerous thing she could have said to me.
Because I knew exactly what trust cost.
Saint’s voice drifted from the corner. “Wolf. I’m ready when you are.”
I nodded once — then looked back at Nora.
“Stay here,” I said. “Just for a minute.”
She nodded. “I’ll be right here.”
I crossed to Saint’s workstation.
“What’ve you got?” I asked.
Saint tapped a few keys. “An old secure channel Keller used years ago. Obsolete by today’s standards, but he’d never abandon it completely. Men like that don’t like unknown variables.”
Trigger smirked. “He’ll check it eventually.”
“No,” I said. “He’s already watching it.”
