Chapter Eight
Unsubtlety
Rachel Williams
Something is wrong with Bishop. Not wrong like dangerous or unstable.
He’s acting strange.
Hovering close, watching me more than the trail, stepping in front of me whenever the trees shift or the wind hits too hard.
Protective. And it’s not subtle.
He keeps positioning himself between me and the woods, between me and David. Im half convinced he’s going to start jumping on shifting leaves in my path.
Every time a branch snaps, he’s already turning toward me. Every time I move ahead, he’s right behind me, close enough that I can feel the heat of him at my back.
It’s… confusing. It is absolutely not helping the ‘stop thinking about him and focus on the case’ mantra that I have been playing on repeat.
He’s so frustrating.
Mr. ‘slams doors’ and ‘no we can’t touch the same mattress’ to now practically offering to carry me over any rough terrain and Im ready to punch him. I would have already if I didn’t enjoy being the focal point of his attention.
Which I should absolutely not be enjoying.
I should also not be considering faking a sprained ankle Its beneath me. Plus I cant keep that going long, he will know Im full of shit.
We follow the boot prints deeper into the valley, the forest closing in overhead. The air is colder here, heavy with the smell of damp earth and river moss. The silence is unnatural; no birds, no insects, no wind. Just the crunch of our boots and the distant rush of water.
David stops suddenly. “Hold up.”
I move beside him, Bishop right behind me closely enough that I can feel the outline of his body at my back.
“What is it?” I ask.
David points at the ground.
At first, I think it’s another boot print. But it’s too wide. It’s a paw print. A massive one. Elongated, almost stretched, with claw marks gouged deep into the soil.
My breath catches. “That’s… not bear.”
“No,” David says quietly. “It’s not.”
Bishop crouches beside it, jaw tight. “Wolf?”
I shake my head immediately.
“Wolves don’t get this big. And the shape is wrong. The toes are too long. The claws are too deep. And look,” I trace the edge with my gloved hand. “There’s weight distribution here that doesn’t make sense for any predator in these woods.”
David exhales. “We’ve been trying to classify it for weeks. Nothing fits.”
Bishop stands, scanning the trees. “Whatever made this… it’s huge.”
“And fast,” I add, looking at the patterns. Whatever it was, it was moving with speed.
He turns sharply toward me, eyes sharp. “Stay behind me.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“Rachel,” he says, voice low, controlled. “I mean it.”
I stare at him, stunned. “I’m not a civilian. I’m not hiding behind you.”
His jaw flexes. “I’m not asking.”
David looks between us; eyebrows raised like he’s watching a soap opera unfold in the middle of a murder investigation.
I step forward, deliberately passing Bishop.
“I’m not standing behind anyone.”
He moves with me. Not blocking me but moving with me like a shadow.
It hits me then. The tension. The stiffness. The way he’s been acting all morning.
He’s scared. Ive never seen him be anything but confident and maddeningly superior.
The realization lands heavy in my chest.
I swallow hard and crouch beside another print, forcing myself to focus. “This isn’t an animal acting out of distress,” I say. “This is something else. Something that hunts differently. Moves differently.”
David nods. “We’ve been saying that for months.”
Bishop doesn’t speak. He just watches me.
I stand, brushing dirt off my gloves. “Look for evidence of an animal. Fur, spoor, anything that looks out of place. If this is an animal, there will be more evidence than this.”
David gestures ahead. “Trail continues that way.”
I start walking and Bishop follows immediately.
Im not sure which concerns me more. His anger, or his fear.