Wyatt leaned in. At first it looked like nothing—just uneven shapes beneath the snow.
Then the lines sharpened.
“Those are the old structures,” Wyatt finally said. “The remnants of Harrow’s Mill.”
Wyatt looked closer. There were six, maybe seven buildings left. Each were tucked under the canopy of the forest and covered with snow.
But it wasn’t the buildings that caught his eye.
It was the people.
There were at least eight to ten people in the area.
“Could they be camping?” Kori asked.
“Not without a permit,” Wyatt said. “Could be squatters. Off-grid group. People who don’t want to be found.”
Kori didn’t look convinced.
Neither was he.
Wyatt scanned the display again. He studied the figures moving between the buildings. From this height they each looked small and indistinct, like dark shapes crossing the snow.
He counted five. Then seven. Then he lost track.
His pulse quickened as he studied each one.
As Garrett switched from thermal to aerial, Wyatt realized he still couldn’t see any faces. The altitude was too high, and the camera resolution wasn’t built for that kind of detail.
Still, he leaned closer to the tablet as if the extra inch might help.
The drone drifted slightly, and a new angle opened on the largest structure.
This one was longer than the others, its roofline lower and wider.
Its position at the center of the cluster suggested it could be a meeting place.
One of the figures stopped moving.
Everyone else continued their routines—crossing between buildings, carrying various things, moving with a quiet rhythm.
But one person stood in the open space between two of the smaller structures.
He looked up.
Not at the sky.
At the drone.
Wyatt’s breath caught. “He sees us.”
“Yes, he does,” Garrett muttered.
For one suspended second the man didn’t move.
Then his arm came up.
Even at this altitude there was no mistaking the shape in his hand.
