The radio at Nick’s shoulder exploded into a burst of static, sharp and intrusive in the quiet night.
“Nick,” a deep voice crackled. “Movement on the eastern ridge. Multiple signatures.”
The table went silent. The tech founder stopped mid-sentence.
Nick didn’t look at the guests. He stepped into the light just long enough to key his mic.
“Understood,” he said. “I’m en route. Secure the dining area.”
At the edge of the clearing, another ranger shifted, then another. Nick was already moving toward the jeep. He didn’t look back. He didn’t translate “signatures.” He didn’t need to.
The air tightened.
I gripped my glass, the stem cold against my palm. I wasn’t looking for a Wi-Fi signal anymore.
Chapter 2
Perimeter Check
JULIETTE
Enginenoisefadedintothe ridge and the cicadas reclaimed the dark as though nothing had interrupted them.
Lantern light held steady over the long wooden table, warm against linen pressed into sharp corners. Wine hung mid-pour. A fork hovered halfway to a mouth across from me, suspended in the hand of a man named Graham who had used the word “bandwidth” twice before the first course. His jaw tightened as he set the fork back down, careful not to appear startled.
No one wanted to be the first to react.
To my left, Alina Petrova held her wine with surgical steadiness, speaking only when someone finished talking—and never to fill silence.
On my right, Owen Rivers pressed his palms flat against the table every time conversation veered toward discomfort, as if grounding himself physically counted as growth. He had already used the wordintentionalfour times.
At the far end, Victor Miles adjusted his cufflinks, the metal clicking against his watch every time the topic shifted away from him.
Beside him, Naomi Liu said very little. When she did, the table quieted. She watched the clearing the way she watched the room—without sentiment.
The sixth seat belonged to me.
The space Nick had occupied remained a vacuum.
The ranger who had taken his place stood closer to the lodge now, feet planted just beyond the final ring of lantern light. Another silhouette lingered on the left flank.
“So,” Graham said. He couldn't let the silence sit.
Alina tilted her head. “I assume that was routine.”
No one moved to correct her.
“Movement could mean anything,” Owen attempted a smile. “Antelope. Warthogs. Wind.”
“Wind rarely triggers radio protocol,” I said, lifting my glass.
The wine smelled of dark plum and toasted oak—a Stellenbosch red, if I had to guess—its richness edged by smoke from the fire pit.
Victor rotated his watch band once. “They would inform us if there were a credible threat.”
Naomi did not look at him. “Define credible.”
Victor’s cufflinks stilled.
