Page 78 of Easy, Tiger

"Let's finish this," she says, unflinching and determined.

We leave the cabin behind us, snow falling in thin, scattered flakes, the worst of the storm finally spent. The terrain slows us more than either of us wants, drifts deep enough in places to swallow Halsey to the knee, and I break trail ahead of her whenever the snowpack turns treacherous. She accepts every hard step in silence, following my path step for step, breath fogging hard in the cold. Forty minutes of consistent climbing brings us within sight of the ridgeline Owen described, and my senses pick him up before I spot him.

Owen's concealed behind a pine trunk, binoculars trained on the ridge above Devil's Gap. The snow crunches under our boots as Halsey and I approach his masked location, but the sound gets swallowed by wind through the branches.

"Status report," I whisper, crouching beside him.

"He hasn't moved in two hours. Still locked onto that pass, waiting for tigers that'll never show." Owen lowers the binoculars, his breath forming white puffs in the frigid air. "Sadie's got the eastern flank covered. Two others are positioned south. Everyone's in place."

Halsey pulls out her sketchbook, flipping to the page covered in thorough notation—rocks stacked in specific patterns, broken branches arranged at particular angles. "Everyone's clear on the signals?"

"Clear." Owen gestures toward the ridge. "My team's been running it through their heads for the last twenty minutes. Now we only need eyes on you two so we know when to watch for it."

"Halsey's got the best sightline from here," I say, surveying the terrain below us. "She can coordinate the signals while I move into position."

Inspecting the treeline, I note the subtle arrangements she's describing: rocks that fall into place with a deceptive casualness and branches that mimic windfall, all of it placed with the exactness of someone who understands how the wilderness actually works.

"He's expecting movement along the traditional route," I continue. "We give him exactly what he wants to see."

Owen frowns. "You're going to expose yourself as bait?"

"Enough to keep him focused on his scope instead of watching his six." I adjust the straps on my pack, redistributing the weight. "Halsey, can you coordinate the signals from here?"

"Already on it." She's moved to a fallen log with clear sightlines in multiple directions, stationing herself where she can observe both the hunter's nest and our scattered team members. "I can see the scout's spot from here—he's watching for the crossed branches signal."

Through Owen's binoculars, I spot the hunter's camouflaged form welded against his rifle stock. Patient, disciplined, completely wrapped up in scouting the wrong mountainside. Exactly where Halsey's false migration maps convinced him the enclave would appear.

"Remember, he needs to believe his plan is working," Halsey adds, sketching quick modifications to her marker system. "Enough movement to validate his position without giving him a clean shot."

I offer a tight sign of understanding as I pivot, working my way downslope toward the edge of his sight picture. This is the part that requires exactness. I need him to see something, a flash of movement through the trees, a shape that resembles a tiger crossing open ground to capture his attention on the pass instead of the ridge behind him. Breaking from cover long enough to cross a gap in the pines, I vanish back into the treeline before his scope can fully acquire me. Visible enough to maintain his interest. Elusive enough to avoid his crosshairs.

Behind me, Halsey arranges three dark stones into a high-contrast stack on the snow, then catches the winter sunlight with a small mirror from her pack. The reflection flashes once toward the ground where one of Owen's scouts waits, hidden among the pines, signaling him to train his scope on her marker.

"Signal acknowledged," Owen reports. "Everyone's holding position until you make your move."

Crouching beside Owen, I take in Nico's silhouette through the gap in the branches. He maintains his exact posture for almost an hour, perfectly still, possessing the deadly patience of a career hunter waiting for his prey to slip up.

"He's got maybe another hour before the cold starts working against him," Owen murmurs. "Thermal gear's good, but nobody's immune to sitting still in this."

"Then we give him a reason to move sooner." My attention drops to Halsey, who's already sketching a rough map of the pass with small notations marking each team's placement. "The lie you fed him in the tent said the enclave crosses Devil's Gap at first light during a storm system like this one. Heavy snow, low visibility, exactly the conditions he's got right now."

"So he's expecting movement any minute."

"He's expecting it, and it's not coming from where he thinks. We use two decoys, minimum exposure, and enough motion at the tree line to keep his attention locked on the pass. Everyone else stays dark until I give the signal."

Owen nods and keys his radio low, relaying instructions I can't quite hear over the wind. Below us, through the gap in the branches, Nico breaks his stillness, bringing his rifle scope up a fraction of an inch.

"He's reacting," Halsey whispers, crouched now beside me, her sketchbook forgotten in her lap. "Something caught his attention."

I follow her gaze downslope, where one of Owen's scouts, moving low and planned, crosses a gap in the treeline exactly where the false migration data promised movement would appear. Nico goes rigid behind his rifle, fixing his crosshairs on the shape with the passion born of a decade spent waiting for this exact moment.

"He's taking the bait," I breathe.

Through the binoculars, I zero in on Nico easing forward against his rifle stock, weight transferring onto his elbows, breath visibly slowing with the practiced calm of a trained shooter preparing for a shot he believes is coming. Every instinct in him is narrowing toward that single gap in the trees, toward prey that was never going to walk into his sights exactly how he expected.

"He thinks he's about to get his shot," Owen murmurs. "Doesn't even know he's the one being hunted."

Halsey's hand finds mine, squeezing tight. "How long until you move?"