I set the rifle against my shoulder and bring the scope up. My breathing evens out as the crosshairs steady over his chest. Hesitation would get someone killed. I do not allow it.
I squeeze the trigger. The silencer dulls the report to a short, muted crack that disappears into the trees.
The man stiffens and drops, the sound of his body hitting the ground swallowed by brush and wet earth.
There’s no relief in it, only the certainty that this cannot be undone.
I stay still, already shifting focus. There is at least one more, possibly more, behind him. I adjust my position, tracking the approach the second man was taking, eyes sweeping for movement.
I check my phone and pull up the camera feeds. I want him before he realizes his partner is gone.
Western perimeter.
I move ahead of him, staying covered, cutting the distance so I can wait instead of chasing. I reposition and wait, forcing him to make the mistake instead of me.
I hear him before I see him.
“Guest, come in,” he mutters into his radio. “Where the hell are you?”
I bring the rifle up and find him through the scope. He is right where I expected him to be.
I aim lower this time, careful with placement. I want him alive long enough to talk.
I fire.
He staggers but stays upright, catching himself against a young pine. The forest goes quiet again as I wait,counting breaths, listening for anything else moving through the trees.
Nothing.
After a minute, then another, it is clear there is no immediate backup. If anyone else is coming, they are not here yet.
I move in, rifle steady. He stumbles forward, one hand clamped to his leg, blood pools below his foot, darkening the fabric of his pants as he struggles to stay upright.
I step into view, and his eyes snap to mine.
I glance at the wound, then at the tree line.
“You’re bleeding out,” I say flatly. “I’m not calling it in.”
He shakes his head, teeth bared. “You think I’m talking?”
I don’t answer with words, and instead, take his radio and start to walk away.
His breathing stutters. “Pierre. Pierre Guest.”
I turn around and look at him before responding, “He’s not answering because he’s dead.”
Fear finally breaks through. His breathing turns shallow as he scrambles for words.
“I’m nobody,” he rushes out. “Recon only. I don’t matter.”
“Then talk,” I say. “Why the fuck are you on my property?”
“I was called in for recon. That’s it. I don’t matter. I’ll tell them whatever you want. I swear.”
“How did you know where to look?” I ask.
“We got intel,” he says, wincing as he shifts his weight. “That you took Laurent’s girl. We traced you here, but we weren’t supposed to engage. Just report back.”
