"Rooster says you've got something important to show me," Butch said, his eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made me want to disappear into the floor.
I glanced at Rooster, who gave me a small nod. "Go ahead, kid. Show him what you showed me."
With trembling hands, I placed my notepad on the desk and opened it to the first drawing—the compound layout with the marked positions of Victor's devices.
I spread out several pages, arranging them in a sequence that told the story I couldn't voice aloud: the tracking network, the suited men, the pattern of surveillance, the specific targeting of shifters.
Butch leaned forward, his brow furrowing as he studied each drawing in turn. His fingers traced the X marks on the compound sketch, much as Rooster's had done earlier.
"These are all places where tracking devices are buried?" he asked, looking up at me.
I nodded, then flipped to the drawing showing the device's internal components—the antenna, the blinking light, the power source.
"And you're certain these are designed to track shifters specifically? Not just standard surveillance?"
I hesitated, then reached for my pencil. On a fresh sheet, I drew a simplified version of what I'd seen in a city three years ago—a device similar to Victor's being tested in a park. I sketched a human walking past it—the device remaining inactive—followed by a shifter approaching—the device lighting up with activity. Then I added the suited men arriving minutes later, converging on the shifter's location.
Butch's eyes widened slightly as he understood. "They can differentiate between humans and shifters? How the hell is that possible?"
I shrugged, unable to explain the science behind it. All I knew was what I'd observed—that these devices responded differently to shifters than to ordinary humans. I sketched another quick drawing—a simplified molecular structure with question marks around it.
"Something in our biology," Rooster guessed, watching over my shoulder. "Something these devices can detect."
I nodded, relieved he understood. Then I flipped to another page and drew a small calendar, marking off days leading to tomorrow with a large X circled repeatedly.
"Tomorrow," Butch said flatly. "Whatever they're planning happens tomorrow."
I confirmed with another nod, then drew a final image—the most difficult to convey. A small lynx hiding in bushes, watching as men in suits installed equipment around various territories. I added small details to each location—a wolf paw print beside one, bear claw marks on a tree near another, fox tracks by a third. Then I drew empty cages where those markers had been, with the suited men loading them into vans.
"How long have you been tracking these people?" Butch asked, his voice quieter now, serious.
I held up five fingers.
"Five years?" he guessed.
I shook my head.
"Five... months?" Rooster suggested.
Another head shake. I drew a quick map of the United States with five cities circled.
"Five different locations," Butch realized. "You've seen this happen in five different places."
I nodded, then pointed to myself and mimed walking from one circle to another on the map.
"You've been moving around, staying ahead of them," Rooster said softly. "That's why you never stay in one place too long."
The accuracy of his assessment surprised me. I'd never told anyone about my constant relocations, my careful patterns of movement designed to avoid detection. Yet he'd understood immediately—this giant of a man with the gentle eyes and endless patience had seen right through my defenses to the survival strategy beneath.
"And now they're here," Butch said grimly. "After us."
I picked up my pencil again and added one more detail to my drawing—a small lynx near the Soldiers of Fortune compound, watching, noting, warning. Me.
Butch studied the image for a long moment, then looked up at me with new understanding in his eyes. "You could have just disappeared when you realized what was happening. Most people would have. Most people who've survived what you have definitely would have." He leaned back in his chair, regarding me with what seemed like respect. "But you came back to warn us instead."
I shrugged, uncomfortable with his assessment. It hadn't felt like bravery when I'd made the decision—just necessity. These people, this club—they'd unwittingly created a space where I could exist on the periphery, taking what I needed without being hunted or harmed. Rooster had fed me without demands. The least I could do was return the favor with information that might save them.
"Thank you," Butch said simply. "Not many would take that risk for strangers."
