He wanted doubt.
He wanted Trigger asking himself whether loving her had already cost too much.
He wanted Rylie watching the town change its posture around her—questions in eyes, space where warmth had been.
Isolation was far more effective than chains.
Thomas returned to the table and picked up his phone, scrolling to a contact saved without a name.
“Phase one complete,” he said into the line.
A distorted voice answered. “They’ll feel this.”
“They already are,” Thomas replied. “But they won’t know it’s me.”
He ended the call and set the phone down.
Soon, Trigger would notice the shift.
The tightened jaws.
The sideways glances.
The way protection started to look like intrusion.
And when he reacted—because men like Trigger always did—
Thomas would be ready.
Because the first move wasn’t about winning.
It was aboutforcing your enemy to reveal how much they had to lose.
43
Wolf
Ifelt it before anyone said a word.
Eagle River had a rhythm—small, steady, predictable. Even with tourists drifting through in summer and snowmobilers cutting through in winter, the town moved like it trusted itself.
That rhythm was off.
It wasn’t obvious. No alarms. No flashing lights. Just small things that didn’t line up.
The gas station clerk didn’t joke with Ace the way he usually did. A woman across the street paused mid-sentence when she saw us coming, then smiled too brightly. A patrol cruiser idled longer than necessary near the tavern before moving on.
None of it was hostile.
All of it was wrong.
Havoc met me outside the tavern, arms crossed, posture loose but eyes sharp.
“You’re seeing it too,” he said.
“Yeah.”
He tipped his chin toward Main Street. “Sheriff’s office got a tip this morning. Anonymous. Nothing actionable, but enough to stir questions.”
