Page 326 of Rangers Mountain Rescue

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We crest a ridge.

After about three hours.

And that’s when I see it.

Lights.

Tank had all of these maps and he was right about all of it.

Not town lights.

Not houses.

Too isolated.

Too controlled.

“Contact,” I say.

Everyone sharpens instantly.

“Grid?” Briggs asks.

I narrow my eyes.

Focus locking in.

“Old logging site,” I say. “About a mile out.”

That tracks.

Remote.

Abandoned.

Perfect for something off-books.

“They’re not hiding,” Briggs says.

“No,” I reply.

“They’re staging.”

And that?

That’s worse.

Because that means—

They’re moving something.

Or someone.

Right now.

“We go quiet from here,” I order.

Engines cut.

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