"Same as always."
He nods once and leaves down the corridor, and I am absolutely not watching him go. No, I’m absolutely watching his god-like physique stride down the hallway with confidence, purpose, and the swagger of a man too attractive for his own good.
Ciaran meetsme at the eastern gate at half past five with a tactical vest on and the expression he wears when he considers an assignment beneath his skill level but won't say so out loud.
"Southern corridor," I confirm, patting the side of my field pack. "I've got the recalibration kit and two spare sensor units in case we lose one."
"How long to deploy?" he asks, falling into step beside me as we cross toward the tree line.
"Forty minutes if the terrain cooperates. Longer if the ground is as soft as it looked on satellite."
He makes a sound that means the ground will not cooperate.
The forest swallows the last of the evening light quickly. The canopy is denser along the southern approach, the pines older and taller, their roots breaking the soil into irregular ridges that catch the toe if you're not watching. I set a steady pace.
Ciaran matches it without effort, moving through the underbrush with the quiet economy of someone who has navigated this terrain in the dark and in worse conditions and never needed to think about it.
We work the first sensor node into position near a game trail junction, and I'm sweeping the surrounding area when myboot catches something that doesn't give the way undergrowth should.
I stop, crouch, and clear the leaf litter with my gloved hand.
The steel jaw sits recessed into the soil, trigger plate barely visible, the surrounding dirt carefully disturbed to look undisturbed. It’s a heavy gauge, the kind designed for something significantly larger than a coyote.
"Ciaran." I keep my voice level.
He's at my shoulder in three steps. He looks at it, then looks at me, and the ice-blue of his eyes goes very flat and very still.
"That trap isn’t meant for local bears," I say. "No licensed bear hunter sets a trap on a game trail at this depth without visible signage. This is concealed deliberately." I stand and scan the surrounding terrain, switching my field of view to what I know about movement patterns and preferred routes. "If a wolf is running this trail at speed in the dark…”
"It doesn't see it until it's already triggered," Ciaran finishes.
"In human form or wolf form, that's a serious injury." I pull my field kit and extract the trap disabling tool, a long-handled release bar I carry for exactly this kind of encounter. "We disable everything we find and document placement."
Ciaran doesn't argue. He's worried, and he's not bothering to hide it with his furrowed brow.
We move systematically outward from the first trap in widening arcs, and the count climbs faster than I want it to. Three more within fifty yards, all set along established wolf trails, all concealed with the same deliberate care. One sits at a creek crossing, a location any wolf moving fast through the lower corridor would naturally use.
Someone walked these trails and chose placements specifically. Not for bear. For wolves that run specific routes.
"They know your patrol paths," I say, photographing the creek trap before I disable it.
Ciaran's expression doesn't change, but his jaw tightens. "Someone told them."
"Someone walked them here first." I snap the release and set the trap aside. "Or gave them a map.”
He pulls his radio and speaks in clipped, precise sentences, giving trap locations, grid coordinates, requesting a full sweep team. When he finishes, he looks at me. "Alden will want a detail out here before nightfall."
"Agreed." I mark the creek crossing on my GPS log. "We finish the sensor deployment first. I don't want to lose the calibration window."
We move deeper into the southern corridor, and that's when Ciaran stops.
He holds up one hand without turning. The gesture economical and absolute. I freeze behind him.
He crouches slowly, eyes moving across the soil. Fresh boot prints, large and deep, heel impression sharp enough that the soil hasn't had time to relax back into it. Leading east, angling away from the trail and toward pack interior.
"Recent," I say quietly.
"Very." He stands. "This direction takes you away from every legal access point."
