They found us.
I pull on tactical pants and a black thermal, strapping on my chest holster and grabbing the rifle from behind the bedroomdoor. My hands move through the motions automatically while my mind races through scenarios.
Three signatures. Could be a scout team, could be the advance party for a larger force. Either way, they're already inside my outer perimeter. That gives us maybe fifteen minutes before they reach the cabin.
Vivian emerges from the bathroom in black yoga pants and a dark sweater, her hair pulled back, her go bag over one shoulder. She's holding the Glock I gave her the way I taught her, barrel down, finger off the trigger.
"How many?"
"Three confirmed. Possibly more."
"The panic room?"
"No." I'm already moving toward the back door. "If they have our location, they know the layout. The panic room becomes a trap. We need to get to the secondary rally point and call for extraction."
"The split boulder?"
"Two miles north. Different route than we trained. They'll expect us to take the obvious path."
I disable the interior lights and crack the back door, scanning the tree line with night vision. Clear. For now.
"Stay close. Move when I move. Stop when I stop. If we get separated?—"
"Rally point. Wait thirty minutes. If you don't show, head for the main road and flag down a vehicle."
"No." I grab her arm, pulling her close enough to see her eyes in the darkness. "If we get separated, you run. You don't wait for me. You don't come back for me. You get to that road and you disappear. Understood?"
"Deck—"
"Understood?"
Her jaw tightens, but she nods. "Understood."
I don't believe her. I can see in her eyes that she'll come back for me, that she won't leave me behind no matter what I say. It terrifies me more than the three armed men moving through my woods.
"Let's go."
We slip out the back door and into the forest. The snow from last week has mostly melted, leaving the ground soft and treacherous. I lead us on a path I've never shown her, one that skirts the eastern ridge and approaches the rally point from an unexpected angle.
Vivian moves like I trained her. Light feet. Controlled breathing. She doesn't step on branches or kick loose stones. Two weeks ago, she would have crashed through these woods like a wounded elk. Now she flows through the darkness like she was born to it.
We're half a mile from the cabin when I hear them.
Footsteps. Multiple sets. Coming from the north.
I hold up a fist and Vivian freezes instantly. I point to a cluster of boulders twenty feet to our left and she moves toward them without making a sound.
We press ourselves into the shadow of the rocks. I count heartbeats. One. Two. Three.
Two figures pass within thirty yards of our position. Night vision goggles. Suppressed rifles. Professional gear, professional movement. These aren't street soldiers. The Castellanos hired contractors. Military-trained killers who know how to hunt in terrain like this.
Shit.
I wait until they've moved past before touching Vivian's arm. We need to adjust course. The northern route is compromised.
I gesture west. She nods.
We move.
