Whatever Michael was telling him wasn't good news wrapped in reassurance. Matthew ran his free hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up at new angles.
"Copy that. We'll move within the hour." He paused, glancing toward me. "Yeah, he's right here. No, we're good. See you soon."
The call ended with a soft beep. I set my mug down carefully. "How bad?"
"Mixed bag." Matthew returned to the kitchen. "They are watching my apartment, but it's discreet surveillance. Michael's federal contact has been tracking the same network we're dealing with."
"FBI?"
"Internal Affairs, corruption task force. They've been building a case against Hoyle for most of the year, but they're staying quiet while they gather evidence." Matthew leaned against the counter. "The good news is we're not alone in this. The bad news is they can't provide direct protection without compromising their investigation."
I absorbed the information. "Are we officially assets now instead of targets?"
"We're people who happen to possess evidence they need." Matthew's distinction was important—a reminder that federal interest didn't necessarily translate to federal protection. "Michael says there's a window. Maybe twelve hours where we can move relatively safely, but it won't last."
"And after that?"
"After that, Hoyle's people escalate their timeline, or the FBI moves to arrest him, or both." Matthew pushed away from the counter. "Either way, sitting out here alone in the wilderness is probably the most dangerous place we can be."
Inside me, hypervigilance reasserted itself. The brief illusion of safety dissolved like sugar in water.
"Cover's not the same as protection."
"No, but it's better than isolation." Matthew paused in the doorway, looking back at me. "You trust me on this?"
He was asking if I trusted him enough to walk back into the city where professional killers were hunting us, based on nothing more than his family's assurance that they had our backs. "I trust you." I meant what I said.
"Then let's pack up and get moving. Michael says we should go back to my apartment, and there will be agents nearby."
The peaceful morning was over. Time to find out if Matthew's family could deliver on their promises, or if we were walking into a trap wrapped in good intentions.
Either way, we would be together.
Ten minutes later, Matthew emerged from the bedroom carrying our gear, moving with the brisk efficiency of someone who'd packed for deployment more times than he could count. No wasted motion and no backward glances at the bed where we'd spent two nights learning each other's breathing patterns.
"Almost ready?" he asked, shouldering the bag containing everything we'd brought.
"Two minutes."
I walked to the kitchen and opened Marcus's pantry one final time, studying the neat rows of canned goods and bottled water. Enough supplies to survive a siege or natural disaster, organized with the methodical precision of someone who planned for every contingency except the ones that mattered.
He had no weapons cache hidden behind false walls. He didn't disguise emergency communication equipment as household electronics. The cabin contained no hidden tunnels or reinforced escape rooms.
Marcus built his cabin to feel safe, not to be defensible. He'd created something I'd never encountered before—a sanctuary.
"Ready when you are," Matthew called from the living room.
Cold October air hit my face like a slap when we opened the front door. The forest smell was more pungent now—pine resin and damp earth. Winter wasn't far away. I followed Matthew toward his truck, gravel crunching under our boots.
Before climbing into the passenger seat, I stopped and tilted my head back, scanning the canopy above us. Movement between the branches caught my eye.
A red-tailed hawk circled the clearing, gliding on invisible currents, its wings outstretched like a warning or a benediction—I couldn't tell which. It moved with the economy of something that had never questioned its place in the world.
Predator and sentinel, wild and unbothered, it belonged to this place in a way I never had anywhere.
For a moment, I wanted to see it how Marcus probably did—free, fierce, beautiful. But I saw more than that. I saw something watching from above, tracking every twitch in the underbrush.
The hawk's cry pierced the silence, sharp and high.
