His eyes narrowed, but he showed no other reaction. It was the same look he'd given me when I came home at sixteen with a split lip from defending Miles against neighborhood bullies. After twenty years of brotherhood, we could communicate volumes with minimal words—a language forged through firefights, funerals, and those endless summers at the lake when Dad taught us to track deer.
"Coffee's ready." I poured Marcus a mug, sliding it toward him with the handle facing right—the way he'd insisted since breaking his left wrist falling from our treehouse at twelve. "I'll tell the others once everyone's up."
"How long do you think we have?"
Before I could answer, the floorboards creaked behind us. Alex appeared in the hallway doorframe, hair tousled from sleep, wearing yesterday's jeans and one of my thermal shirts. The garment hung loose on his leaner frame, with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. The sight of him in my clothing triggered my protective instincts.
"Morning." He looked from Marcus to me, sensing the tension. "You're both up early."
I offered him my mug. "Coffee?"
His fingers brushed mine as he accepted it. "Thanks." He searched my face. "Everything okay?"
I spoke quietly. "Found a bootprint outside. Someone's been watching the cabin."
"Recent?"
"Very."
Alex absorbed the information with a slow nod, taking a sip of coffee before responding. "Then we need to move quickly. The upload's at seventy-six percent. Another hour and a half, maybe less."
Marcus interrupted us. "Too long. If they've found us, they won't wait."
"If they wanted to take us, they would have already." Alex surprised me with his tactical assessment. "They're waiting for something."
"For what?" I asked.
"Confirmation, maybe. Or backup." He set the mug down on the counter with deliberate care. "Or they want to see who we contact before they move."
The historian's analytical mind had pivoted seamlessly to counter-intelligence. A groan from the sofa announced Miles's return to consciousness. He sat up, hair spiky and his eyes puffy.
"Why's everyone looking so serious?" His voice was rough. "Did the coffee machine break?"
Marcus tossed a protein bar in his direction. "We've got company in the vicinity. Michael found evidence of surveillance."
Miles caught the bar one-handed. "How many? And how close?"
"Unknown." I moved to the window, scanning the tree line again. "At least one observer, based on the print. Could be more."
"Fantastic." Miles unwrapped the bar and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. "And here I was worried this whole exposing a secret government assassination program thing wouldn't be exciting enough on its own."
His gallows humor broke some of the tension. Alex almost smiled as he crossed to his laptop on the table. He woke the machine with a swift tap, checking the progress bar that dominated the screen.
"We need up to an hour and a half more," Alex explained like a historian. "The encryption protocols function like medieval authentication systems—each gateway requires its own seal of approval. Rush it, and the whole diplomatic mission falls apart."
I joined him at the table. "And relocating compromises our position. The moment we switch networks, we're lighting up their radar like a Christmas tree."
Marcus placed his empty mug in the sink with a dull clink. "Assessment: hold position, establish defensive perimeter, and prepare for hostile contact." His firefighter's command presence emerged naturally.
"Affirmative." I slipped into the tactical shorthand Marcus and I shared. "Miles, inventory check—consumables, hydration, med kit. Alex, maintain primary objective monitoring. Marcus and I will establish security protocols."
Miles lifted his hands in mock surrender. "So basically, I'm on snack duty while you three play Special Forces? Fantastic. I'll be over here counting protein bars while civilization hangs in the balance."
Alex turned toward the bedroom. "I'm going to grab my notes."
My phone buzzed once—barely a vibration on the edge of the table.
Matthew:Heard a rumor about military movement near Spokane. Are you near there?
