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My hands fly over the keyboard, analyzing perimeter data while trying to ignore how every cryptid in the room glances my way. Their wariness is justified—I’m the hunter’s daughter, after all. Trust comes slowly here, especially during a security breach.

“Three teams approachingfrom different vectors,” Volt announces, his massive form crackling with electricity as he studies the surveillance feeds. “Coordinated movement patterns. Professional equipment. These aren’t random hunters—they’re organized.”

My breath catches as I recognize the formation displayed on the screens. “They’re using a modified Triquetra approach pattern.” The words emerge before I can stop them, drawing sharp looks from everyone present.

“A what?” Cypher, the Shadow Cat, materializes from a darkened corner, his amber eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“It’s a specialized tactical formation,” I explain, keeping my voice steady despite my pounding heart. “Three teams moving in geometric patterns to triangulate a target while maintaining optimal coverage ratios.”

“And you know this how?” Marina’s eyes narrow with unease.

Dante’s hooves click against the floor as he moves closer to the screens. His wing looks better today—the toxic lines finally receding after our latest treatment breakthrough. But it’s the wariness in his eyes that hurts most as he asks, “Is this your father’s work?”

Instead of flinching from the question, I square my shoulders and face it directly. “Yes. It’s his signature approach pattern. He developed it specifically for cryptid tracking in mountainous terrain.”

The room falls silent. I can almost hear their thoughts—wondering if I secretly called him, if this is some elaborate trap I’ve led them into. The doubt is understandable, but we don’t have time for it.

“Which means I know exactly how to stop it.” I move to the main console and pull up a topographical map of the area.

“My dad trains his teams to keep the same distance from each other, no matter what’s in the way. That makes their movements easier to predict—especially in places where there aren’t many ways in.”

Volt’s electricity intensifies, making the air crackle around him. “You’re suggesting we use your insider knowledge of your father’s techniques against him.”

“Unless you’d prefer they reach the sanctuary’s main entrance.” My fingers trace potential interception points on the map. “They’re using third-generation thermal imaging modified for cryptid energy signatures. Standard blocking techniques won’t work.”

Dante steps forward, his crimson skin darkening as he studies the map. Our eyes meet briefly, and something passes between us—not forgiveness, not yet, but a tentative alliance born of necessity.

“What do you suggest?” His voice carries no emotion, but his tail curls slightly—a tell I’ve documented extensively.

Taking a deep breath, I point to three specific locations on the map. “These ridges provide natural choke points. If we position countermeasures here, here, and here, we can force them to abandon the Triquetra formation and fall back to standard pursuit patterns.”

“Countermeasures such as?” Cypher’s claws flex with barely contained tension.

“Volt’s electricity can disrupt their equipment if focused through naturally occurring crystal formations.” My mind races through options. Years of training now turned to protection rather than pursuit. “Marina’s Water Sprites could create false thermal readings to confuse their tracking systems.”

Dante’s expression shifts almost imperceptibly. “You’ve thought about this before. Sanctuary defense against hunter tactics.”

Heat floods my cheeks as I nod. “Since the first week I arrived. Old habits… repurposed.”

Volt exchanges a look with Dante that I can’t quite interpret. After a moment of silent communication, the Thunderbird nods decisively. “We’ll try it your way. Cypher, alert the defensive teams. Marina, gather your sprites.”

As the room erupts into organized chaos, Dante remains beside me, his presence both comforting and unsettling. “Your father.” His voice drops lower, meant only for me. “You’re certain it’s him?”

“The pattern is unmistakable.” My fingers clench around the edge of the console. “But I don’t understand how he found this location. He shouldn’t even know I’m here.”

“Unless Apex shared information.” His tail lashes again. “Or perhaps you left a trail.”

The implication stings, but I meet his gaze steadily. “You carried me out of there unconscious in a hospital gown. How exactly would I have left a trail?”

His expression softens slightly, acknowledging the logic of my defense. Before he can respond, Volt returns with a crystal communications device. “Teams are moving into position. Marina’s already at the eastern ridge.”

For the next hour, we work side by side in tense silence—my knowledge of how hunters think and his grasp of the sanctuary’s defenses making us a solid team. Even with everything unspoken between us, the mate bond buzzes under the surface, keeping us tuned in to each other in ways we can’t ignore.

When Volt’s lightning scrambles the hunters’ comms, throwing them into confusion, Dante’s tail brushes against my ankle—a small touch, but the first he’s made outside of treatment in days.

That tiny moment sends a wave of warmth through me.

“Smart move with the crystal amplification points,” Dante murmurs, eyes still on the surveillance feeds. “Volt’s electromagnetic pulse hit a lot harder than usual.”