Page 34 of Forest Reed (Seals on Fraiser Mountain #8)

Forest

The square was locked down tight—too tight. Every corner had eyes, every rooftop a rifle, and still my gut twisted like barbed wire.

Zoe moved beside me, scanning the shopfronts with sharp precision, but her brow was creased, her body tense in a way I knew too well. She felt it too.

“Something’s wrong,” she said finally, her voice low, clipped.

Jason glanced up from his radio. “Everything’s secure. Roadblocks holding. Rooftops clear.”

“Secure doesn’t feel like this,” Zoe snapped. “North doesn’t play clean. If it looks neat, it’s because he’s hiding the mess.”

I swept the street again—windows, alleys, rooftops. Too quiet. Too calm.

Then my eyes caught on the gym across the square. Dozens of civilians pressed against the glass doors, pale faces watching us. Deputies stood guard, rigid, their rifles at rest.

But one of them—tall, broad shoulders, patch sitting crooked on his vest—didn’t move like the others.

He didn’t scan the street. He didn’t shift his weight. He just watched the crowd.

Zoe followed my gaze. Her breath hitched. “You see it?”

“Yeah.” My hand tightened on my rifle. “He doesn’t belong.”

Jason frowned, following our line of sight. “What are you—”

The gym lights flickered. Once. Twice. Then settled back on.

Zoe’s eyes met mine, fierce and certain. “Forest. He’s already inside.”

And in that heartbeat, my gut went cold.

Because we weren’t hunting North’s wolves anymore.

They were hunting us.