A flicker of pride warmed his chest.
He moved quickly now, securing the cabin—wiping down surfaces, erasing signs they’d been there longer than necessary. The place would look abandoned by nightfall.
Rylie slipped on her jacket and boots without being told.
When she came back, she hesitated. “Trigger… Thomas isn’t going to stop, is he?”
“No,” he said without hesitation. “Men like him don’t.”
She swallowed. “Then running isn’t enough.”
Trigger met her eyes, something hard and certain settling in his chest.
“No,” he agreed. “Which is why this time… I’m not just getting you away.”
Her brows knit together. “Then what are you doing?”
He stepped close, resting his hands on her shoulders—steady, grounding.
“I’m setting the board,” he said quietly. “And when he makes his move…”
He leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers.
“He won’t like how it ends.”
Outside, a branch snapped somewhere deep in the trees.
Trigger turned, already reaching for his weapon.
“Time to move,” he said.
And this time, he wasn’t reacting.
He was hunting.
20
Trigger
Trigger moved first.
He didn’t announce it. Didn’t give a speech. He simply stepped into the trees and trusted Rylie to follow.
She did.
That mattered.
The forest swallowed them almost immediately, the cabin disappearing behind a curtain of pine and shadow. Trigger kept his pace measured—not slow, not rushed—choosing ground that didn’t break underfoot, paths animals used instead of men.
He listened as much as he looked.
Wind through branches.
Birdsong restarting.
No engines. No voices.
Still wrong.
