That lie rolls off his tongue with the ease of long practice, slick and deliberate. It's too smooth, too rehearsed, and I could kill him just for thinking I'd fall for it.
The other one doesn't speak. He doesn't need to. The second our eyes meet, the years fall away. That jawline, the scar under his left eye, the deliberate stillness of a man who's waiting to kill or be killed—it's all burned into memory. I know him. I remember the night he walked away while I bled into the snow. I never expected to see that face again unless it was in the crosshairs of my scope.
He left me to die. And now he's here.
"Come inside," I say, stepping back. "Storm's not gonna let up. You'll freeze out here."
The talker smiles, teeth white against his wind-chapped skin. He thinks I'm stupid. Thinks I'm the beast the locals whisper about, not a man who once buried a team of insurgents in a ravine with a single round each.
He'll learn.
They step inside. I shut the door and bolt it. The latch clicks into place like a trigger resetting. The air changes. It feels denser now, charged with threat and anticipation. The two men exchange a brief glance, subtle and cutting, the kind that speaks volumes in silence. My spine stiffens. Every muscle tightens, poised for violence. I register the way the talker's boots squeak slightly against the hardwood, how Brenner's eyes flick toward the corner where I keep my weapons. They know they've stepped into a den—but they have no idea what kind of animal they just disturbed.
"Appreciate the hospitality," the talker says, brushing snow off his shoulders. "Name's Weber. My buddy here's quiet. Just here to watch my six."
"Sure he is," I say.
My voice hasn't changed. Cold. Measured.
I set the rifle down gently beside the fire. Show of good faith.
Weber glances around the cabin. Clocking exits, layout, potential weapons.
"Nice setup. Cozy. You live up here alone?"
"Better that way."
"That so?"
He steps closer, dropping the good-ole-boy routine in favor of something more calculated. His hand dips toward his jacket. A threat. A test.
He fails it.
I move. Weight rolls through my hips as I lean forward, controlled and lethal. The knife slides from my belt with a metallic whisper, low and final. The air between us snapstight, like a tripwire about to sing. My shoulders square, every movement precise. Trained. Deadly. Weber's eyes don't even track fast enough to catch what's coming.
My elbow slams into Weber's throat and I pivot, grabbing his arm as he stumbles. I twist it behind him, turn him into a human shield.
Brenner draws his weapon. Too late. He can’t fire without hitting Weber.
"Drop it," I growl.
He hesitates.
"Do it."
Brenner lowers the weapon. Smart. Still breathing.
I strip the gun from his hand and toss it across the cabin. Then I slam Weber into the wall hard enough to crack one of the logs.
"Sit," I order. "Both of you. Hands where I can see them."
Weber coughs, his throat already bruising. Brenner obeys in silence.
I pace in front of them, blood ice-cold and steady. The Beast they came for? He's awake now. And he remembers.
"Didn't think you made it out," Brenner finally says.
"Clearly."
