Eli glances at me. “No?”
“They’re mapping us,” I say. “Again. But differently this time.”
I move forward slowly, crouching near the ground. There—pressed into the dirt.
Claw marks. Deep. Too deliberate. Not a warning. A message. My tiger presses hard under my skin. Because I recognize it. Damon’s style. Not random chaos. Controlled pressure. Strategic placement.
“Fan out,” I order quietly.
The patrol spreads without hesitation. We don’t need discussion anymore. We just move.
Because we all understand what this is becoming. War doesn’t announce itself. It just stops pretending it isn’t already happening.
Half a kilometer deeper into the woods, we find the real problem. The first body. A rogue. Not one of ours. Draped over a fallen log like it was placed there. No visible struggle.
No blood spray. Just stillness.
Eli steps closer. “That’s not us.”
“I know,” I say.
But I don’t like what that means. Because rogues don’t leave their dead exposed unless it serves a purpose. And Damon doesn’t do anything without purpose. I crouch beside the body.
There’s a mark on the collarbone. Not a wound. A symbol. Carved clean. Intentional.
My tiger reacts instantly—low, sharp, dangerous. Because it’s a claim mark. Not of territory. Of ownership.
Eli swears under his breath. “That’s new.”
“No,” I say quietly. “That’s escalation.”
Behind us, another patrol member calls out.
“Archer!”
I turn sharply. He’s standing near a tree line break, pointing down toward the slope.
“More tracks,” he says. “Heading north. Fast movement. Multiple groups.”
I understand the shape of it now. Not just scouting. Not just mapping. This is displacement. They’re moving pieces. For position. Not reconnaissance. Not harassment. Preparation.
“Damon’s consolidating,” I say.
Eli looks at me. “For what?”
I don’t answer immediately. Because I already know. And I don’t like saying it out loud.
“An assault,” I finally say.
Silence drops over the patrol instantly. No one argues. No one questions it. Because the forest is already confirming it for us. Every broken branch. Every overlapping scent trail. Every direction they’re pushing from. It all leads to one conclusion. They’re not circling anymore. They’re tightening.
We don’t stay long after that. There’s no point. We’ve seen enough. And what we’ve seen isn’t something you wait on. It’s something you respond to. Fast. We’re halfway back toward the ridge when my phone vibrates. One message.
Conrad.
Tessa safe. Movement near town perimeter increasing.
My grip tightens instantly. Another message follows immediately after.
