I held the page up for all of them to see, watching their expressions harden as the full implications sank in.
"Then we don't have much time," Gunner said, checking his weapon one final time.
Bear nodded grimly. "Let's move. Everyone knows their positions."
As they slipped into the shadows, moving toward the locations I'd designated on my dirt map, Rooster lingered behind. His eyes held mine for a long moment, filled with questions he didn't voice.
"Thank you," he said simply. "For trusting us with this."
I ducked my head, uncomfortable with his gratitude. It wasn't trust that had made me start documenting Victor's operation. It was survival. Pure, simple, cold-blooded survival.
But as I watched him move toward his assigned position, I had to acknowledge that something had changed. My reasons for being here, now, weren't the same as they'd been when I'd first started tracking these hunters years ago.
I hesitated at the edge of the clearing, my body instinctively pulling toward the deepest shadows, the safest hiding places. Fifteen years of conditioning screamed at me to retreat, to find a high, secure position and observe from a distance. To document without engaging. To survive.
But my eyes fixed on Rooster's receding form as he moved silently through the underbrush. On Bear's massive shadow as he circled toward the granite outcropping. On Gunner's tactical precision as he slipped between the pines.
These men weren't just subjects in my observation journal anymore. They weren't just a temporary territory to exploit for food and protection before moving on. They were something I hadn't allowed myself in fifteen years of running.
They were my reason to stop.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped away from the protective shadows and moved toward the small X I'd marked for myself. Not hiding. Not running. For the first time since I was seven years old, I was standing my ground.
I crouched in the underbrush, my body perfectly still as I watched Victor's men emerge from the tree line. They moved with the confident precision of predators who'd never been prey, their tactical formation spread in a standard sweep pattern. Moonlight glinted off their weapons as they advanced toward our positions, unaware they were walking into a trap I'd spent fifteen years perfecting.
My fingers tightened around the small stone I'd picked up—my signal to the others when the time was right. Three heartbeats. Two. One. I hurled the stone against the metal shedto my right, the sharp clang echoing through the night like a starter's pistol.
The reaction was immediate. Victor's point man halted, signaling the others with a raised fist. They froze in textbook formation, weapons raised, scanning for the source of the noise.
Exactly as I'd predicted.
From his position on the granite outcropping, Bear made his move. His massive form emerged from shadow like a nightmare given flesh, shotgun thundering in the still night air. The first blast caught Victor's rear guard squarely in the chest, sending him sprawling backward in a spray of blood and tactical gear.
Before the others could react, Gunner opened fire from the pine cluster, his shots precisely placed to drive them toward the funnel point I'd identified in my dirt map. Three short bursts, each one finding its target—not killing shots, but disabling ones that forced Victor's men to seek cover in the only direction available to them.
My heartbeat remained steady as I watched my plan unfold. Years of observation had taught me how these teams operated, their training so consistent it had become predictable. They broke left under pressure, always left, regrouping to establish a defensive position before counterattack.
Exactly where Rooster waited.
Two of Victor's men stumbled into his position, already wounded from Gunner's fire. Rooster emerged from the shadows like an avenging spirit, his attack brutally efficient. No wasted movement, no hesitation.
I'd never seen this side of him before—the trained fighter beneath the gentle cook's exterior. He took both men down in seconds, leaving them unconscious, but alive for questioning later.
Victor's remaining forces scattered, their coordinated attack dissolving into chaos as our ambush claimed half their teamin the opening moments. I allowed myself a moment of grim satisfaction. The hunters had become the hunted, their carefully planned operation unraveling before my eyes.
But victory evaporated in an instant when I spotted movement where there should have been none.
A slender figure darted between trees at the edge of the clearing—too small to be one of Victor's men, moving with the distinctive quick gait of a fox shifter. My enhanced vision caught a flash of his face in the moonlight. Young. Barely more than a teenager. Wearing an MC prospect cut that hung too large on his narrow shoulders.
What the hell was he doing here?
The kid was moving parallel to the fight, clearly trying to circle behind Bear's position—perhaps thinking he could help, maybe prove himself worthy of full membership.
Instead, he was running directly into the path of Victor's communications specialist, who had separated from the main group during the initial attack.
I tensed, ready to signal a warning, but it was already too late. The operator's head snapped up, spotting the prospect's movement. In three swift strides, he closed the distance between them, grabbing the young shifter before he could react.
The knife appeared at the prospect's throat, steel gleaming dully in the moonlight. The operator dragged him into the clearing, using the kid's body as a shield while backing toward the tree line.
