The words hung in the air between us, heavy with implication. Not just that I'd witnessed other attacks—but that I'd chosen not to intervene, to remain hidden and survive. Until now. Until them.
Rooster read the words aloud softly, his voice catching on the final sentence. "Only ones I warned." He looked at me, understanding dawning in his eyes. "Because we were the first ones who treated you like a person instead of a threat."
I dropped my gaze, uncomfortable with the raw gratitude in his expression. It hadn't been just that. There were practical considerations—this group was larger, better armed, with underground passages I could leverage. My chances of successful intervention were higher. My risk of capture lower.
But even as I thought it, I knew it wasn't entirely true. Something had shifted when Rooster had first left that plate of food on the picnic table. Something I hadn't experienced in fifteen years of solitary survival. Something that had made me risk exposure to warn them about Victor's surveillance devices. Something that had pulled me back to the compound after I'd fled in terror at the mention of a claiming bite.
Something that felt dangerously close to caring.
"How long have you been tracking these attacks?" Gunner asked, pulling me from my thoughts.
I held up five fingers.
"Five years? You've been following these bastards across the country for five years?" The incredulity in his voice was matched by the new respect in his eyes. "Why?"
I couldn't easily explain that answer without speaking, and I wasn't ready to break my silence. How could I tell them that after watching the first attack—after seeing the clinical efficiency with which the shifters were cataloged, sampled, and removed—I'd recognized a pattern that terrified me to my core? That I'd been marked as "specimen of interest" once before, barely escaping with my life? That I'd survived by becoming the watcher, staying one step ahead of those who would cage me?
Instead, I just tapped my chest, then pointed to my golden lynx eyes. Because I was like them. Because it could have been me.
"All this time," Bear muttered, shaking his head. "We thought we were watching out for you, but you've been the one protecting us."
Below us, Victor's men continued their methodical search of the compound. One team had reached the garage, flashlight beams sweeping through the windows. Another approached the tree line where our tunnel had emerged. They were thorough, professional—and getting closer to our position with every passing minute.
The weight of Rooster's hand settled on my shoulder, warm and steady. I didn't flinch away this time, didn't tense at the contact. Instead, I found myself leaning slightly into his touch, accepting the connection it offered.
"What happens now?" Gunner asked, his eyes fixed on the destruction below.
I looked at these men—these fighters who had unknowingly given me something worth fighting for after fifteen years of running—and made my decision. With my pencil, I wrote onemore message in my notebook, the words stark against the page:"Now we hunt the hunters."
Rooster's hand tightened on my shoulder, a silent promise of protection and partnership. As Victor's men moved through the compound below us, searching for prey that had slipped through their fingers, I felt something unfamiliar settle in my chest—a fierce determination that went beyond mere survival.
For the first time in my life, I wasn't just trying to stay alive. I was fighting to protect something that mattered. Something that might, against all odds, be worth the risk of being seen.
Chapter Fourteen
~ Liam ~
Bear studied my scribbled message with narrowed eyes, his massive shoulders tensing as he read the words. "Hunt the hunters," he repeated, a dismissive grunt following the words. He looked down at me, skepticism radiating from his entire body. "No offense, kid, but what exactly do you know about hunting men? You've spent fifteen years hiding from them."
I didn't blame him for his doubt. In his eyes, I was still the feral creature who'd been scavenging from their dumpsters, the broken thing who flinched at sudden movements and couldn't—or wouldn't—speak. He had no way of knowing that surviving alone for fifteen years hadn't just taught me how to hide. It had taught me how to hunt.
I moved away from the edge of the outcropping, finding a fresh patch of dirt in the moonlight. The earth was cool beneath my knees as I knelt, my fingers already moving to clear away small rocks and twigs. I sensed rather than saw the others gathering around me, their shadows falling across the makeshift canvas I was creating.
The compound spread below us like a battlefield chess board. Victor's men were still methodically searching the buildings, their tactical lights cutting through smoke and darkness.
I let my eyes unfocus slightly, seeing beyond what was happening now to what could happen—what I could make happen—if these men trusted me enough to follow my lead.
I dipped my finger into the soil and began to draw a more detailed map than the one I had drawn before.
First, the terrain—a precise topographical map emerging from quick, practiced strokes. The clubhouse and outbuildings. The access road. The fence line. The natural features I'd catalogued during months of observation. Depressions. Rises.The drainage ditch that offered concealed approach from the north. The fallen log that created a natural blind on the western edge.
Years of surveillance had taught me that victory often hinged on these details—the aspects of terrain most people overlooked.
"What is he..." Gunner started, but Rooster hushed him with a raised hand.
Bear watched with crossed arms as my fingers continued their dance across the dirt. I added Victor's men next, marking their current positions with X's, then drew arrows indicating their most likely movement patterns based on their training level and previous operations I'd witnessed.
Bear's posture shifted subtly. The dismissive tension in his shoulders gave way to something closer to curiosity.
