Trigger was close.
And Thomas?
He was about to realize the woman he thought he’d isolated had done the exact opposite.
She’d drawn every predator on the board into the light.
50
Trigger
Ihad eyes on her before she stepped into the ravine.
Not by accident.
By design.
Her trail bent exactly the way I would’ve bent it—subtle, controlled, forcing anyone following to funnel into predictable lanes. She’d chosen ground that punished impatience and rewarded restraint.
Which meant she wasn’t panicking.
She was thinking.
I settled deeper into the brush, rifle steady, breathing slow. Havoc was offset to my right, covering the rear approach. No chatter. No wasted motion.
We were ghosts.
Rylie moved into view, hands visible, posture calm. Not submissive. Not defiant.
Centered.
The man facing her wasn’t Thomas. That tracked. Thomas didn’t put himself where he could be touched—not until the board was cleared.
Proxy.
Runner.
I watched the man’s stance shift as Rylie spoke.
Not dominance.
Assessment.
Good. That meant he hadn’t expected her to sound like this.
“You didn’t come to be taken.”
Neither did I.
I adjusted my scope slightly, watching the runner’s fingers twitch near his jacket. No weapon drawn. No sudden moves. He was listening—and so was someone else.
I scanned the tree line beyond him.
Nothing obvious.
Which meant Thomas was close enough to hear, far enough to disappear.
Rylie stepped back deliberately, reclaiming terrain instead of yielding it.
