“Copy north ridge. Maintain position.”
“East road, redirect overflow evac to Main Street.”
“South perimeter, confirm visual before advancing.”
My voice stays steady even as my pulse refuses to. Delilah moves in and out of the bookstore, coordinating evac groups,her expression tight but controlled. Brooke checks in every few minutes, giving me short updates before heading back out again.
We’re all moving like parts of a system. A system that’s working. For now. I glance at the door for what has to be the tenth time in as many minutes. Not expecting. Just… aware. Because the more this unfolds, the harder it is to ignore the feeling that something isn’t right.
Not just the attack. The pattern. They’re pressing from multiple directions, testing the town’s edges, forcing us to spread out. And that means?—
“Don’t go there,” I mutter, shaking the thought off before it can fully form.
My phone buzzes again. Unknown number. That alone is wrong. Everyone who should be contacting me is already in the system. I hesitate for half a second, then answer.
“Who is this?”
Silence. Then a voice. Smooth. Controlled. Too calm.
“I was hoping to reach you directly.”
Every instinct in my body goes on alert.
“Who is this?” I repeat, sharper now.
A soft chuckle.
“You’re more perceptive than the others. That’s good.”
Ice slides down my spine. I end the call immediately. My hands don’t shake. I don’t let them. Instead, I tap into the patrol channel.
“Conrad, we may have compromised communication lines. Unknown contact just reached me directly.”
A pause.
Then Conrad’s voice: “Understood. Stay alert. We’ll trace what we can.”
Stay alert. Like I’m not already stretched to the limit. I set the phone down, forcing myself to breathe evenly. Focus.Information. Control what I can control. Another update comes through.
“West side just reported movement?—”
“Hold west,” I cut in. “Do not pursue beyond line markers.”
I write it down. Track it. Keep moving. Minutes pass. Or maybe seconds. Time doesn’t feel stable anymore. The bookstore door creaks softly. I look up immediately. A man stands in the doorway. He looks like a traveler. Backpack. Dust on his boots. Neutral expression. Completely unremarkable. Except he shouldn’t be here. Evac routes are clear. Civilians have been redirected. No one should be walking in. Not now.
“Sorry,” he says easily. “Didn’t realize you were closed.”
My gaze locks onto his. Something about him doesn’t sit right. It’s subtle. Too subtle for anyone who hasn’t already been watching for it. His posture is relaxed—but controlled. His eyes flick once around the room—not with curiosity, but with assessment. He’s mapping exits. Just like the others earlier. Every nerve in my body tightens.
“We’re not open,” I say evenly. “You need to head to the town center.”
He smiles slightly.
“I think I’m exactly where I need to be.”
The words settle heavy in the air. Too deliberate. Too precise. I don’t move. Neither does he. But the space between us shifts. Predatory.
“You should leave,” I say again, my voice firmer now.
