“I’ll forward it to you. Checked this morning—didn’t report to parole.”
Sam whistles low. “Could be on his way here.”
“Then we get to him first. Before the authorities do.”
Sam smirks under the moonlight. “Perimeter first. Sniff him out before he steps foot in Cedar Lake Falls. I like it.”
“Thanks for showing up,” I say.
He laughs, the sound low and easy. “Can’t believe you’re… fucking Lucky Pink.”
My jaw locks. “Watch your words.”
His eyes widen, then his grin warps into stunned realization. “Holy shit. Look at that. My man’s inlove.”
“I’m not—” I stop myself, exhale hard. “I’m protecting her.”
“Uh-huh.” He folds his arms. “With your dick?”
“Sam.”
He holds up both hands, palms out. “Fine, fine. I’ll behave. But I’m right, and you know it.”
I stare him down until the smirk fades. “This isn’t a joke.”
He sobers immediately. “Didn’t say it was.”
A beat of silence passes between us—cold, heavy, real.
He nods toward her cabin. “Is she safe now?”
I look back at the dim light through my living room window. Where she’s curled asleep on my couch. Finally breathing without fear.
“She will be,” I say. “As long as he stays away.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
My voice comes out calm. Too calm.
“Then he won’t be breathing.”
Sam exhales through his nose, approving. “All right then.” He adjusts the strap of his pack again. “I’ll sweep the west side first. Text if you need me.”
He turns to go, footsteps silent on the grass, already vanishing into the dark like smoke.
Silent. Controlled.
Not a sound out of place.
Old instincts curl in my chest.
We were never ordinary soldiers.
Sam and I were trained for a different kind of hunt—patterns, shadows, breath, heat, the quiet shift of an enemy that isn’t afraid of killing you first.
Trackers. Hunters.
Men who find what doesn’t want to be found.
