POV: Dylan The metallic tearing sound above us didn’t end in a breach.
Whatever had slammed into the transport roof launched itself back into the tree line just as quickly, leaving behind three deep, ragged gouges in the reinforced steel.
I didn’t wait for it to return.
I unlatched the heavy rear door, shoved Stella behind my frame, and stepped out into the mud.
“Stay close, and keep your mouth shut,” I muttered, sweeping the perimeter with my rifle raised.
The air out here had a wrongness to it—pine and crushed foliage under something sharper, almost metallic.
The kind of smell that never belonged in a normal forest.
The forest was dead quiet.
There were no signs of birds or any insects.
Even the wind had died down, leaving the trees unnaturally still.
I raised two fingers, signaling Collins to hold position.
A faint rustle came from somewhere to our left.
Stella paused in her movements.
I slowly turned my head toward the sound, rifle following.
There was nothing around, just trees.
“Did you hear that?” she whispered.
“Yes.” “Was it—” “Quiet.” Her mouth snapped shut.
I waited another few seconds before lowering the rifle slightly.
“Collins, take the rear flank,” I ordered into my comms unit.
“Keep the transport running.” “Copy that, Boss,” Collins’ shaky voice crackled through my earpiece.
“Watch the canopy.” Holland was going to pay for this.
If my brilliant brother had taken care of his own sector instead of dumping a high-risk tracking operation into my lap on the morning after my forced marriage, I wouldn’t be standing in knee-deep sludge.
The next time I saw him, I was going to break his nose.
For several reasons.
I crouched near the base of a massive pine, sweeping my gloved hand over a cluster of snapped ferns.
The break was fresh, the sap still sticky and clear.
Deep, asymmetrical imprints were driven into the soft earth—the left stride dragging, sunk deep and digging several inches deeper than the right.
The trail was fresh.
Whatever had passed through here was moving fast.
I touched one of the deeper impressions, studying the way the mud had collapsed around it.
“How recent?” Stella asked quietly.
“Less than an hour.” She looked around the silent forest.
“That’s not comforting.” “It wasn’t meant to be.” Beside me, a wet, squelching sound signaled Stella’s attempt to keep up.
She had already managed to coat her ankles in gray silt.
“My boots cost three thousand dollars!” she hissed, trying frantically to scrape a chunk of muck off her leather heel against a root.
“This mud is eating them!” “Keep moving, or I’ll leave you to walk back on foot,” I said without looking back at her, my eyes scanning the high canopy for broken branches or disturbed roosts.
“I hope a monster eats your tactical vest first!” she shot back, her voice tight and strained, but remarkably devoid of actual panic.
I glanced at her from the corner of my eye.
Her hair was falling out of its messy bun, sweat clung to her forehead, and her face was flushed from exertion.
She looked miserable but she also kept moving.
I’d given her an hour, tops, before she threw a tantrum, sat on a log, and demanded an escort back.
It would have made things easier.
I could have sent Collins to haul her back, leaving me free to handle the hunt without worrying about a civilian tagalong.
Instead, she stayed directly behind me, cursing under her breath and stomping those ruined three-thousand-dollar boots through the brush.
A branch snapped somewhere behind us.
Stella spun around and I caught her wrist before she could move away from me.
“Don’t.” She stared at my hand around her wrist.
Then at me.
“What?” “Don’t move until I tell you.” Her eyes searched mine, and for once, she didn’t argue.
I released her slowly and turned toward the sound.
Nothing moved.
But the hairs along the back of my neck had risen.
Whatever was out there had followed us.
“Is it always this wet out here?” she grumbled, stepping heavily into a shallow pool of stagnant water.
“It’s a forest, Knox,” I said, my tone remaining dry.
“Adjust.” “I am adjusting,” she retorted, pulling her denim jacket tighter around her shoulders.
“I’m adjusting my opinion of you from ‘cold jerk’ to ‘completely unhinged tour guide’.” I stopped abruptly, raising a flat palm.
She nearly plowed right into my back, pulling up just in time with a muffled gasp.
Fifty yards ahead, the tree line opened into a small clearing.
A torn tactical jacket hung from a low branch, stained dark with dried blood.
Below it lay a shattered radio, its casing crushed by raw physical force.
Stella stepped up beside me, her eyes tracking the bloody fabric.
The color gradually drained from her face.
“Is that…
one of your guards?” she whispered, her usual sharp edge softening.
“Collins’ squad.” I studied the clearing.
There weren’t any drag marks, bodies or even signs of feeding.
Whatever had done this hadn’t stopped here for long.
I stepped into the clearing, keeping my rifle trained ahead while my eyes moved over the ground.
A broken branch with blood on the bark.
A little further, there were three deep gouges in the soil and another footprint.
Human.
Almost.
“There’s nobody,” Stella said.
“No.” “Shouldn’t that worry you?” “It does.” She swallowed.
For the first time since we’d left the transport, she stopped complaining about her boots.
The silence felt heavier now.
“The trail is still fresh,” I said, following the disturbed earth beyond the clearing.
“Keep behind me.” Stella’s gaze dropped to the footprint in the mud.
Despite its distorted depth, the shape was unmistakably human.
“Dylan…” she said quietly.
I glanced back.
“What exactly are we tracking?” I tightened my grip on the rifle and looked toward the dark stretch of forest ahead.
“Someone who lost control.” Stella went still.
“Someone?” I didn’t answer immediately.
She looked between me and the bloodied jacket.
“You mean we’re hunting a person?” I met her eyes.
“It once was.”