Trigger hissed out a curse.
Havoc muttered, “He’s circling.”
Tate nodded grimly. “And we found something else.”
He held out a small evidence bag.
Inside was a scrap of paper.
Folded.
Deliberate.
Thin enough to have been slipped under a door.
My pulse kicked up.
“When?” I asked.
“Five minutes ago,” Tate said. “Found by the tavern’s back delivery door.”
Trigger took the bag and held it up to the light. There was handwriting inside—small, neat, almost meticulous.
He carefully unfolded it and read aloud:
“Two down. One to go.”
The room froze.
“Two what?” Saint murmured.
“Symbols,” I said. “Steps.”
Nora’s breath stuttered, and I immediately moved closer, my hand finding her waist. “It’s alright.”
“No, it’s not,” she whispered. “He’s taking steps. He’s planning. He’s counting.”
“He’s wrong,” I said. “He’s not getting past me.”
Her voice trembled but held steady. “Wolf… I think I remember something.”
Every Ranger went still. Even Sheriff Tate.
She touched her temple, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. “It’s like a flicker. A small moment. His voice…”
My blood went cold.
“You heard him,” I said, softer now.
“Not clearly,” she murmured. “But he said something. Months ago. Before any of this started.”
Trigger leaned forward. “Where?”
Nora swallowed hard. “The day of the break-in at the library. I told the sheriff I didn’t see anyone. I didn’t… but I heard something.”
“What?” Tate asked.
“A whisper. Just one word.”
