I crouched and studied the ground.
Fresh tire tracks—light truck. Recent. They’d parked, waited, then pulled out again.
Pickup aborted.
Good.
That meant he was watching.
I shifted east, moving parallel to the clearing and keeping the trees between me and the open space. I didn’t rush. I counted my steps, tracked the wind, and listened for sounds that didn’t belong.
A branch snapped somewhere to my left.
I froze.
Not close.
Not retreating.
Testing.
I smiled grimly to myself.
You’re not the only one who can be patient.
I slipped my phone from my pocket and powered it on for exactly five seconds. Long enough to send the signal. Long enough for Trigger to read the change.
Then I powered it off again.
I moved another hundred yards and stopped at the edge of a shallow ravine. The ground dipped sharply here, brush thick enough to conceal someone standing ten feet away if they knew how to use it.
I did.
I slid down the embankment and pressed my back to the dirt, heart steady now, senses sharpened.
This was the place.
Not because it was safe.
Because it forced anyone approaching to commit.
You couldn’t rush this spot. You had to reveal yourself.
Minutes passed.
Then—
Footsteps.
Slow. Measured. One set. Maybe two.
I waited.
The sound stopped.
A voice carried down softly, amplified just enough to reach me.
“Rylie.”
