She opened it. “Snacks. You’re hiding snacks in here.”
“Emergency rations,” I corrected, taking the protein bar out of her hand before she ate my last one.
“You’re telling me if you get shot, your plan is to slap on a bandage and then stress-eat chocolate chip?”
“Exactly.”
She laughed, bright and sharp, then started opening every other pouch just to test me. Knife, spare mag, flex cuffs. She kept smirking, like she was taking notes.
“Zoe,” I said, exasperated, “this isn’t a toy store.”
She shoved my extra radio into her jacket pocket. “Then stop making it fun.”
I gave herthe look—the one that made most men on my team shut up and fall in line. She didn’t even flinch. She just arched a brow and tapped the side of her holster liketry me. Then my mind went to the shower we took, and I almost lost track of what we were doing.
God help me, I liked her too much.
We went over the plan again: one access road, three choke points, lake perimeter. We knew North would expect us to walk straight into his net. So we’d flip the angles—split entry, meet at the east shore, set our own ambush.
“You sure the Sheriff’s office will roll up when you call?” Zoe asked, strapping on her vest like she’d been born in one.
“Yeah. I sent coordinates last night with the trussed-up raccoons. Word travels fast. They’ll be waiting down the ridge.”
“And if they’re late?”
“Then it’s just us.”
Her smile went sharp. “Good. Less paperwork. But I know Lane will be there before us.
I shoved extra rounds into her mag pouch before she could argue, my fingers brushing hers. The contact hit harder than it should’ve. For all the chaos, for all the banter, this part wasn’t funny—it was raw. Because I wasn’t just preparing her for a fight. I was preparing myself for the possibility I couldn’t stop something.
She must’ve read it in my face because her smile softened. She rested a hand flat on my chest. “Hey. Don’t borrow trouble. We’re walking into thistogether,remember?”
I covered her hand with mine. “Together.”
We loaded up the truck, packed with enough gear to look like we were moving in. The road to Mirror Lake was rutted and narrow, shadows long even with daylight pressing in. Zoe fiddled with the radio, landing on a station blasting eighties rock.
“Really?” I asked, steering us around a fallen branch.
She grinned, seatbelt snug, heart-shaped sunglasses perched like she’d forgotten they were a joke. “If we’re driving into an ambush, we might as well have a soundtrack.”
The chorus hit. She sang along, loud and absolutely off-key, pointing an imaginary mic at me. I didn’t sing. I didn’t even smile. I just kept my eyes on the road.
She laughed so hard she almost doubled over. “You’re impossible.”
I let the corner of my mouth twitch. “That’s the point.”
By the time the lake glimmered through the trees—mirror-flat, still as glass—we were both quiet again. The kind of quiet that isn’t empty, just bracing.
I pulled off at the overlook. “Last chance to turn back.”
She climbed out, checking her weapon, eyes fixed on the shoreline below. “Forest, if you ask me that one more time, I’ll push you into your own lake.”
I shut my door, falling into step beside her. “Noted.”
We descended the trail in silence, the air crisp, every sense on high alert. And as the water spread out below us, perfect and cold, I knew one thing with absolute certainty.
North wasn’t just waiting for us.
