"I have been awake. I did not hear anything." Crull rumbles.
"Her hearing is different than ours now."
Crull's amber eyes come to me. He does not ask me to explain. The veins at his temples have darkened. He turns half a step into the hallway and his bulk angles toward the front door.
Harek is on the floor against the wall on the other side of the bed. He is up to his knees in seconds, the shimmer at his shoulders coming and going. He moves to the window and reads the tree line through the glass without putting his hand on the wood.
Three knocks on the bedroom doorframe.
"Awake," Thaw says.
Dean steps in. "Drone. North ridge. Three miles. Loitering."
Thaw goes still. "Loitering," he repeats. The way a man repeats a word he was hoping not to hear.
"Yeah. Not searching. Searching is a grid pattern, the drone flies a sweep. This one is holding station. Pinging. It is reading scent off the wind in real time."
"How long has it been there?"
"Less than five minutes. The sensor flagged it on the second minute. It is scent tech."
The wood-stove in the kitchen ticks. The men in the bedroom do not move. Outside the window the forest does not make a sound.
"Do they know it is us?" I say.
Dean's eyes come to me. "Not sure yet. One scent drone on a north ridge means they are narrowing. They do not know it is us. They know we are in the region."
"What about the wind?"
"East. Has been east the last ten minutes. Our scent profile is blowing away from the drone. They have not had a clean read. If it shifts north, they get one. If it shifts northwest, they get a very good one."
"And then?"
Dean's mouth tightens. "Then a clean scent read calls the rest of the assets. Thermal goes up next. Inside thirty minutes from a confirmed hit. A thermal pass on this cabin reads seven hot bodies and we are not getting out the door after that."
I look at the window. The pines are not moving. The mist is hanging in the air without direction. "How long until the wind shifts."
"One minute. Three hours. I can’t predict."
Thaw's hand finds the small of my back. The bond pours through. "We are leaving," he says.
Thaw turns to Dean. "Twenty-five minutes to roll. Less if your paranoia climbs."
"Eight out of ten right now."
Thaw turns to Crull. "Get Fen. Half-dose. Enough to ride. Not enough to drown him."
"Surfaced earlier." Crull says.
"I know. I want him close to the top."
Crull's amber eyes hold his brother's for a beat. Something dark passes between them. He turns down the hall.
"Dean. Stay on the sensor. Daron sleeps another ten — I want him fresh on the wheel."
"Yes."
Dean goes.
