Page 52 of Easy, Tiger

A hunter who follows established patterns is dangerous but predictable. One who adapts and anticipates becomes something else entirely.

"He's learning," I mutter.

"Gets worse," one of the scouts continues. "Found boot prints near the Whitmore cabin yesterday, recent ones. Right around where Halsey's staying."

Every protective instinct I possess flares to life. "How recent?"

"Yesterday afternoon, while she was here with us."

Turning toward Halsey, I find her absorbed in her work at the supply table, completely unaware that someone was spying on her home. The thought of that bastard anywhere near her space makes my hands clench into fists.

"We need to accelerate the timeline," Owen says. "If he's escalating surveillance⁠—"

"No." A sharp edge slips into my voice before I can catch it. "We need to make sure she can handle herself if something goes wrong."

Owen raises an eyebrow. "You want to train her?"

"I want to give her every possible advantage." I turn back toward Halsey, who's now outlining the rules of a medication rotation schedule for Karlene.

"She's not going to run, and I'm not going to lock her in a cabin somewhere. So she learns."

An hour later, I find myself leading Halsey into the forest with a pack full of emergency supplies and a growing appreciation for how quickly she absorbs new information.

"First rule of wilderness survival," I tell her as we reach a small clearing surrounded by dense pine. "Never panic. Panic makes you stupid, and stupid gets you killed."

"Comforting start to the lesson."

"You want comfort or competence?"

She grins at that. "Competence, definitely. What's second?"

"Water, shelter, signaling, food—in that order. You can survive three weeks without food, three days without water. In extreme conditions, you've got maybe three hours with no shelter before it turns fatal. But you can die in three minutes if you can't signal for help when you need it."

Demonstrating how to identify water sources, I walk her through purifying questionable water using methods that don't require specialized equipment. She asks about flow rates and mineral content, approaching the lesson with the same curiosity she brings to everything else.

"What about shelter?"

Guiding her through debris hut construction, I break down how body heat and insulation work together. She builds her own practice shelter, asking about wind direction and ground moisture while her hands work steadily with branches and pine needles.

"Pretty good for a first attempt," I tell her, examining the structure. "You'd stay warm enough to survive the night."

"What about signaling?"

"Any grouping of three means distress, whistle blasts, mirror flashes, or rock piles. It's a universal signal." I hand her an emergency whistle. "But if you need to leave a trail for us to follow without alerting whoever's tracking you, we use a specific enclave code. Scratched bark spelling out directional markers or a particular arrangement of broken branches. Snapping a sapling at eye level, or three stones pointing north. Simple enough to memorize, subtle enough that no one else will look twice at it."

She tests the whistle, listening to how the sound bounces between the trees, then repeats the code back to me under her breath, committing it to memory just as intently as she analyzes anatomy before sketching it. "What about threats? How do I know when something's wrong?"

There's no hesitation in the question, only sheer determination, the same determination she brings to a sketch she's determined to get right.

"Birds go quiet when predators move through. Squirrels chatter warnings. Pay attention to what the forest is telling you." I indicate a nearby ridge. "Human threats are different. Broken branches at shoulder height, footprints that don't match the terrain, anything that feels purposefully placed."

"Like surveillance equipment?"

"Exactly." I gauge the internal shift as she processes this information, filing it away with everything else. "Trust your instincts. If something feels wrong, it probably is."

"What if I can't get away? What if running isn't an option?"

"Then you fight with strategy rather than brute force. You play along, bide your time, and if they press you for information, you offer them a carefully prepared fabrication. Always redirect someone away from where we'd actually be. If things go sour, you tell them the vanguard secures Devil's Gap ahead of the rest. Treacherous, isolated, completely wrong. That's our agreed-upon false trail. If I know you've fed them that, I know exactly where to look for you."