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Lens.

Someone was watching.

Again.

Only this time?

I wasn’t running.

41

Jude

Idropped to a crouch beneath the window and breathed through the rush of adrenaline.

Don’t panic. Don’t freeze.

Assess. Decide. Move.

I hadn’t been field active in months, but the rhythm of it all—theprocess—was still carved into my bones like a scar.

I set the burner phone down and picked up my real one. Faster. Direct.

I tapped Cyclone’s contact and hitcall.

He answered on the first ring. “Hey, you okay?”

“No,” I said quietly, already moving through the kitchen, keeping my body out of line with the windows. “There’s someone in the trees. Watching. I saw the lens.”

Silence for a heartbeat.

Then: “Where are you now?”

“Kitchen. Just spotted him through the window off the back deck. He’s tucked behind the brush, ten o’clock angle from the oak.”

“Armed?”

“Didn’t see a weapon. Just glass. Scope or camera, I can’t be sure.”

“I’m five minutes out,” he said. “Do not engage.”

“River’s here.”

Another pause. “Good. Stay inside. Lock the doors. I’m coming.”

“I’m not scared,” I said, my voice low, even.

“I know you’re not,” he replied, voice rough. “That’s what scaresme.”

The line went dead.

I moved to the side door, locked it, then crossed the house and did the same at the front. River reappeared a moment later, already holding his sidearm.

“Someone in the trees,” I said before he could ask. “I called Cyclone.”

River nodded once, already scanning the room, windows, and angles. “Good. We’ll wait him out. He gets close, we get eyes. He runs, we follow.”

I gripped the edge of the counter, grounding myself.