Ryker cuts south, boots silent on snow.
Eli sweeps north, med kit already in hand.
And me?
I turn toward Crosspoint Ridge—where I last saw Granger's eyes. Where he promised this wouldn't end clean.
You're playing a dangerous game,he'd said.
The one in danger is you, Granger.
I swear you'll regret this.
My comm unit crackles as I move. "Asa."
"Here." His voice is tight, focused.
"I need everything. Every signal, every shadow, every goddamn leaf that moves wrong. Expand the scope. Maximum range."
"Already on it. Kaleidoscope protocols engaged. If someone breathes wrong out there, we'll know."
"Good. Keep the channel hot."
Sloane falls in behind me as I cut through the trees.
She doesn't speak—just matches my pace, breath steady despite the brutal climb. Her tactical awareness surprises me. The way she reads terrain, picks clean lines through the snow, maintains noise discipline.
Like she's done this before.
Like she knows exactly what kind of hell we're walking into.
The ridge rises ahead—stark against gray sky. I take point, leading us up the gentle slope that turns treacherous near the top. The incline would kill most people's stamina.
But Sloane?
She doesn't even breathe hard.
Just follows my boot prints like she was born for this.
When we reach the summit, I drop into a crouch behind a fallen pine. My eyes scan the valley below—checking angles, running sight lines, looking for anything that doesn't belong.
There.
Southeast quadrant.
Maybe two clicks out.
A structure.
Not natural. Not Park Service. Some kind of shelter, half-hidden in the tree line.
Perfect place to cache gear.
Perfect place to hold someone.
I tap my comm twice. "Possible contact. Southeast of the ridge. Structure, looks abandoned. Moving to investigate."
"Copy that," Knox replies. "We'll converge on your position."
