Page 127 of Hunt Me

“Predictable patterns.” I’m already tracking Bravo team’s movements. “Reynolds telegraphs every move. Watch—Charlie team will shift west in five, four, three...”

Charlie team moves exactly as predicted.

Alexi’s hand tightens on my shoulder. He leans down, breath warm against my ear.

“That’s my girl.” His voice drops to that dangerous register that makes my thighs clench. “So fucking smart.”

Heat floods through me despite the tactical situation. Despite armed operatives circling the compound. Despite everything.

I shiver, fingers pausing momentarily on the keyboard.

“Don’t stop.” His lips brush my ear. “Show them what happens when they fuck with us.”

I track the Sentinel scouts as they approach the outer gate. Three operatives, moving with military precision through the darkness.

“Alpha team at the fence line.” I relay the coordinates to Erik. “Two hundred meters northwest.”

Erik’s response comes through calm and controlled. “All teams hold position. Let them commit.”

The operatives reach the gate. One produces bolt cutters while the others provide cover.

Then the night explodes.

Not with gunfire—with precisely calculated detonations that light up the perimeter in controlled bursts. Each explosion is positioned to intimidate without causing casualties.

The scouts drop flat, weapons raised.

Spotlights snap on in sequence, sweeping across the compound with mechanical precision. Each beam reveals occupied sniper positions—men in tactical gear, rifles trained on the intruders.

“Jesus Christ.” One of the scouts’ voices crackles through their open channel. “How many shooters do they have?”

I suppress a smile as Erik’s recorded radio chatter floods their frequency. Multiple team callouts, coordinates, tactical positioning—all suggesting a security force three times our actual size.

“Bravo Six, holding position at sector four.”

“Charlie Three, eyes on eastern approach.”

“Delta One, northern perimeter secured.”

Teams that don’t exist. Positions we haven’t filled. All carefully orchestrated theater.

Alexi leans over my shoulder, watching the feeds. “Beautiful.”

The scouts scramble back from the gate as another controlled detonation rocks the fence line. No shrapnel, no casualties—just impressive pyrotechnics that screamprofessional military operation.

I pull up the drone footage Erik’s team prepared earlier. Grainy night-vision showing armed personnel patrolling in numbers we absolutely don’t have. Edited loops of guards changing shifts, vehicles moving between positions, tactical teams coordinating movements.

All fiction.

All convincing.

“They’re retreating.” I watch the thermal signatures pull back. “Reynolds is ordering full withdrawal.”

The lead scout’s voice cuts through their comms, breathless and shaken. “Command, this is Alpha One. The target location isa hardened military facility. Armed personnel estimated at forty-plus. Sniper positions cover all approaches. Multiple defensive positions. We don’t have the resources for this.”

Reynolds responds immediately. “All teams pull back. Return to rally point Charlie.”

The spotlights continue their sweeps as the Sentinel operatives flee into the darkness. Erik’s phantom radio chatter persists for another two minutes, maintaining the illusion until the last thermal signature disappears beyond our sensor range.