“Sentinel style.”
Her eyes flick to me.
“Exactly.”
Sentinel never built operations.
He builtecosystems.
Cells that looked harmless on the surface.
Volunteer groups.
Charities.
Community outreach.
All connected underneath by people who knew exactly what they were doing.
And once those ecosystems took root—
They were almost impossible to dismantle.
Wren taps her fingers against the notebook.
“Did you notice the map?”
“Yeah.”
“Too many locations.”
I pull into the cabin driveway.
“Not just search zones.”
“No,” she agrees quietly.
“Recruitment zones.”
I kill the engine.
The forest around us hums with evening insects.
Peaceful.
Which somehow makes everything feel worse.
Wren turns toward me.
“They knew my name.”
“Yeah.”
“That means they’ve penetrated federal records somewhere.”
“Or they bought access.”
“Or both.”
