Thoren
The phone rang once—maybe twice—before I answered.
“Talk,” I said, already standing from my desk.
“It’s me,” came Ryker’s voice. One of my best scouts. Sharp eyes. Steady hands. “I didn’t even get near the perimeter yet. But I spotted a vehicle.”
I stilled. “How far out?”
“Half a mile, give or take. Black SUV. They parked on the gravel, just shy of the bend. Been watching them through the binoculars for a while now.”
I crossed to the window and pushed it open. The wind hit like ice. “How many?”
“Two. One’s leaning on the porch rail, looking pissed. Other one’s pacing. They’re not rogues. Clean, purposeful movements. Armed. Organized. I think they’re pack.”
My jaw tightened. “What are they doing?”
“Talking. Inspecting. Body language says they’re trying to piece something tog
