“That’s not how questions work.”
He tightens the final screw harder than necessary.
“You should stop asking about things people don’t want to explain.”
“That sounds like a red flag for exactly the thing I should be asking about.”
Silence again.
Then, quietly: “Don’t forget about not going into the forest at night.”
I blink.
“That again?”
“Yes.”
“That’s helpful.”
He stands, testing the door. It closes cleanly now—smooth, solid, no catch.
“There,” he says. “Done.”
I hesitate.
“Okay,” I say slowly. “But I’m still going to ask eventually.”
“You won’t.”
“That sounded like a challenge.”
“It wasn’t.”
But I’m already filing it away anyway. Because nothing about this town adds up. Not the people. Not the reactions. Not him. And definitely not the way I keep feeling like I’m missing something right in front of me.
10
ARCHER
The forest is louder than it should be. Not in sound—in presence. Every step I take along the border confirms what I already know. The rogues aren’t just testing anymore. They’re establishing a perimeter.
Systematic. Measured. Intentional.
I move along the outer line slowly, scanning for fresh markers. There are too many now to ignore. Too many points of contact where scent overlaps. Redwood Crossing is no longer being watched. It is being evaluated. Claimed. A twig snaps behind me. I turn instantly, but there’s nothing there. Still?—
I feel it. Eyes. Watching. Not close enough to engage. Just close enough to observe.
I continue forward, reinforcing markers along the boundary as I move. Each step is deliberate. Each scent mark stronger than the last.
Let them know. This territory is not weak. Not open. Not available. As I near the southern edge, something shifts in the wind. Familiar scent. But still rogue.
I stop.
Felix Navarro is positioned in the tree line just beyond the ridge, partially hidden. Observing. Always observing. He doesn’t step closer, just watches me with quiet calculation.
“How long have you been tracking me?” I ask Damon’s second-in-command.
“Long enough,” he says mildly.
