I still.
“What about her?”
“She’s coordinating communications,” Conrad says. “Businesses, patrol teams, evacuation routes—she’s tied into all of it.”
Of course she is.
“She shouldn’t be that exposed,” I say.
“She’s not exposed,” Conrad replies. “She’s central.”
That doesn’t make me feel better. It raises the stakes.
I exhale slowly. “Keep someone near her at all times.”
“Already done.”
I nod once. Then I turn toward the forest. Time to move.
The shift hits me fast and clean, muscle and bone realigning as instinct takes over. The world sharpens—scents layering over each other, sound carrying farther, every movement in the trees registering with precision.
Rogue presence is everywhere. Faint. Scattered. But unmistakable. I move along the northern ridge first, checking positioning. Two of my fighters hold the line there, their stances alert but controlled.
“Any contact?” I ask.
“Visual only. They’re keeping distance.”
“They won’t for long.”
I move on. The eastern access road shows similar patterns—movement just beyond sightlines, pressure without commitment. Testing. Always testing. The pattern is undeniable. They’re surrounding the town. Not closing in yet.
Just tightening.
I stand at the tree line, my gaze fixed on the forest beyond. The wind shifts again, carrying a sharper edge this time. Not just presence. Movement. I lower my stance slightly, letting instinct take over as I track the change in scent patterns along the southern line. It isn’t random. Nothing about this is random.
They’re rotating positions. Testing response speed. Measuring how quickly we adjust.
A shadow flickers between the trees to my left—too fast for a human eye to catch, but not fast enough to disappear completely. I move. Silent. Direct. By the time I reach the spot, there’s nothing there but disturbed leaves and the faint echo of scent. Rogue. Recent. Watching.
I crouch, brushing my fingers against the ground before straightening again, scanning the tree line.
“You’re getting closer,” I mutter.
Another shift. This time from the opposite direction. They’re triangulating. A low growl builds in my chest before I force it back down. That’s what they want—reaction without control.
Not happening.
I tap into the patrol channel again. “All units, tighten formation by five percent. Maintain visual overlap. No blind zones.”
Acknowledgments come back immediately. Good. They’re listening. They’re adapting.
But so are the rogues.
I step back toward the tree line, pushing past the immediate perimeter and deeper into the forest. That’s when I feel it. Not movement. Not sound.
Presence. Heavy. Focused. Intent locked in one direction. Me. A slow, dangerous smile pulls at the corner of my mouth.
“Finally,” I say quietly.
