We played one more hand in comfortable silence before Matthew glanced at the clock and stretched, vertebrae popping like small firecrackers.
"Time to move."
I shouldered the canvas bag and took one last look around the cabin. Twelve hours ago, it had felt like a sanctuary. Now it was more like a waystation—a temporary shelter.
"Ready." I followed him toward the door while he checked the locks twice before stepping onto the covered porch.
Matthew's truck sat where we'd left it, raindrops beaded on the windshield and hood. I was three steps from the passenger door when I saw it.
"Wait." Matthew froze mid-stride. I pointed toward the tree line where the gravel road disappeared around a bend. "There."
A dark SUV idled in the shadows. No license plate visible from our angle, and windows tinted dark enough to hide occupants.
The SUV's engine revved once. Then it backed away from the treeline and disappeared around the bend, leaving only tire tracks in the mud and the lingering smell of exhaust.
I watched the empty space where it had been. "Time's running out."
Matthew gripped my shoulder. "Then we'd better move fast."
The truck's interior smelled like wet fabric and pine air freshener. Matthew turned the key, and the engine caught on the first try, settling into a reliable rumble.
Matthew put the truck in drive and pulled onto the forest road. "How long before they escalate?"
"Depends on their operational priorities." I adjusted the passenger mirror to watch the road behind us. "If we're their primary target, maybe hours. If we're secondary to whatever else they're running..." I shrugged. "Days, maybe weeks."
"And if we're lucky?"
"Luck's not a tactical consideration." I settled into my seat, checking my phone for the third time to confirm it was powered down. "But if we move fast enough, we might get ahead of their decision cycle."
Matthew accelerated slightly, the truck's engine note changing as we gained speed toward the main highway. "Marcus first and then dinner."
The truck carried us away from the cabin that had housed us for two nights, toward a gas station rendezvous that would hopefully expand our capabilities.
No more hiding. No more purely reactive responses. Time to see if Hoyle's organization was as invincible as they wanted us to believe.
Twenty minutes into the ride with only the road and the hum of the tires for company, I reached for the radio. "You mind?"
"Go for it." Static greeted us, and then a synth line.
It was "Say My Name" by Destiny's Child. I chuckled before I could stop myself.
Matthew glanced over. "What?"
"First CD I ever stole."
An eyebrow rose. "Stole?"
"Okay. Permanently borrowed. From my college roommate.Survivoralbum. Played it every night through a bustedWalkman passed down from my uncle till the headphones cracked."
"Huh." He let that hang in the air, then added, "Figures."
"Figures?"
Matthew smiled. "You'd pick the one group whose whole message is: don't show weakness, just win."
"Damn right."
He smiled a little at the road, then said, "I was more of a gay heartbreak guy. Give me Jimmy Somerville's angst on the dance floor any day. Represent."
