10. Archer
ARCHER
The forest is louder than it should be. Not in sound—in presence. Every step I take along the border confirms what I already know. The rogues aren’t just testing anymore. They’re establishing a perimeter.
Systematic. Measured. Intentional.
I move along the outer line slowly, scanning for fresh markers. There are too many now to ignore. Too many points of contact where scent overlaps. Redwood Crossing is no longer being watched. It is being evaluated. Claimed. A twig snaps behind me. I turn instantly, but there’s nothing there. Still—
I feel it. Eyes. Watching. Not close enough to engage. Just close enough to observe.
I continue forward, reinforcing markers along the boundary as I move. Each step is deliberate. Each scent mark stronger than the last.
Let them know. This territory is not weak. Not open. Not available. As I near the southern edge, something shifts in the wind. Familiar scent. But still rogue.
I stop.
Felix Navarro is positioned in the tree line just beyond the ridge, partially hidden. Observing. Always observing. He doesn’t step closer, just watches me with quiet calculation.
“How long have you been tracking me?” I ask Damon’s second-in-command.
“Long enough,” he says mildly.
I don’t like that answer.
He tilts his head slightly. “You’re out here a lot.”
“I patrol.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
My gaze narrows.
He continues, unfazed. “You return to the same area more than necessary.”
I don’t respond. Because he’s right. And I don’t need that spoken aloud.
“Something in town?” he asks.
“No.”
But the word lands wrong. Even to me. He looks past me—toward town. Toward the bookstore district.
“You’re predictable when you’re focused,” he says quietly.
I tense slightly.
“Careful,” I warn.
He gives a faint shrug. “Just an observation.”
Then he steps back into the trees and disappears. I stand there for a moment longer than I should. Because now I know—
I’m being watched too. By rogues. By my own people. And that changes the calculation. By the time I return to town, the decision is already forming.
I reinforce the perimeter around the bookstore district personally.
Not visible. Not obvious. Just enough to strengthen coverage.
Just enough to compensate. My tiger is agitated the entire time.
Too close. Too exposed. Too important. I stop across the street from the bookstore and watch it through the window.
She’s inside. Alive. Unaware.
Mine.
The word returns harder than before. I exhale slowly.
“I can’t keep doing this,” I mutter.
And for the first time—
I admit it out loud. Not to anyone else. To myself. Avoiding her won’t work much longer.
Not with rogues circling. Not with eyes on me. Not with instinct this loud. I turn away from the building and head back toward Conrad.
Because the truth is finally settling in. I can protect her at a distance. I can try. But sooner or later—
Something is going to force the distance closed. And I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop it when it happens. The forest tells me before anything else does. Something changed. Not visually.
Not audibly. But structurally. The scent markers are denser now. Layered. Reinforced. Not just mapping anymore—establishing boundaries.
This isn’t reconnaissance. This is preparation. My tiger rises immediately. They’re setting a perimeter. Around Redwood Crossing.
I move faster now, no longer following a casual patrol rhythm. Each step is deliberate, scanning intersections where scent lines overlap. I find more of them as I go. Too many. Too coordinated. This is no longer a scouting operation. It’s a claim-in-progress.
I stop near the ridge line and look out toward town. The bookstore district sits quietly below. Too quiet. My jaw tightens. She’s there.
I can feel it even from this distance now.
That pull is no longer subtle—it’s constant.
A low, relentless awareness that never fully shuts off.
This is becoming a problem faster than I anticipated.
I shift back toward the treeline, moving with purpose rather than instinct alone.
I need to reinforce visible boundaries now—not just scent markers.
Something stronger. Something clearer. A message. Stay out. Not ours. Not yours. Not her.
The thought hits harder than I expect.
I pause. My tiger reacts immediately, pushing forward with irritation at the hesitation.
Mine.
I shut it down. Hard.
“No,” I mutter.
That cannot become the baseline. Not if I want control.
I continue moving along the perimeter, marking heavier boundaries at key points where rogues have already tested. Each one is deliberate. Each one stronger than the last. I’m aware I’m being watched.
Not rogue. Not civilian. Familiar. I stop without turning immediately.
“I know you’re there,” I say.
A pause. Then Felix steps out.
“You’re getting predictable,” he says mildly.
“I’m working,” I reply.
“Same thing, lately.”
I don’t like that phrasing. He glances toward town.
“Something’s drawing you back,” he says.
“No.”
“That was quick.”
“Because it’s wrong.”
“Or because it’s obvious.”
I don’t respond. Because responding gives it weight. And it already has enough.
“You’ve been near the bookstore more than usual,” he continues.
That lands sharper than intended. My expression doesn’t change.
“Patrol routes,” I say.
“Convenient ones.”
My jaw tightens slightly.
“You’re observing patterns that don’t concern you,” I say.
“Everything in this town concerns me,” he replies calmly.
That’s not an answer I like.
He steps back slightly. “Just be aware,” he adds. “People notice repetition.”
I hold his gaze.
“Noted.”
Then he disappears again into the trees. And I stand there longer than necessary. Because now there are two kinds of attention on me. Rogues. And my own people. Both watching. Both noticing patterns. Both capable of putting pieces together if I slip once.
I exhale slowly and force myself back into motion. By the time I return to town, I’ve made the decision fully. I reinforce the bookstore district perimeter personally. Not obvious.
Not visible. Just enough to make intrusion harder. Just enough to slow them if they try. But even as I do it, the problem grows clearer.
Distance is no longer protection. It’s delay. And delay won’t hold forever. I stop across the street from the bookstore again. She’s inside. Alive. Unaware.
Still mine in every instinctive way that matters and none of the ways that are safe.
My tiger presses harder than before. I don’t immediately suppress the thought that follows.
Avoiding her may not be sustainable anymore.
Not with rogues closing in. Not with observers tracking movement. Not with instinct this strong.
I turn away slowly. Because the truth is becoming unavoidable. Sooner or later—
Something will force the line between us to break. And when it does—
I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop it from pulling everything else with it. I don’t go back to the garage right away. I should. That would be normal. Expected. Safe.
Instead, I circle the block once more, slower this time. It’s a controlled risk—staying human enough not to draw attention, but open enough to catch anything out of place.
The bookstore sits quiet. Still. Too still.
The reinforced perimeter I laid down is subtle, but I can feel it—my own scent layered carefully along key entry points, designed to deter without provoking. It’s not a permanent solution. Just a temporary barrier. And temporary is no longer good enough.
My gaze drifts toward the alley beside the building. That’s where they lingered. That’s where they watched. That’s where they decided she mattered. My jaw tightens.
“They don’t get that choice,” I mutter.
But that’s not how this works. Rogues don’t ask permission. They observe. They calculate. They take. And right now—
They’re calculating her.
I step into the shadow of the building, scanning the alley again. No fresh movement. No immediate threat. But the absence of activity doesn’t settle anything. If anything, it confirms it.
They’ve already pulled back. Already gathered what they needed. Which means the next move won’t be observation. It’ll be action.
My tiger rises at that thought, sharp and immediate.
Protect.
The instinct is louder now. Less contained. It doesn’t just sit beneath the surface—it presses forward, demanding response, demanding proximity. Demanding her.
I exhale slowly, forcing the edge of it down just enough to think.
“Control,” I mutter.
Because losing that isn’t an option. Not here. Not with this many eyes on me. Not with her still completely unaware of what she’s standing in the middle of.
I step back out onto the street, the artificial calm of town settling over me again like a mask I’m forced to wear. Lights glow softly in nearby windows. A car passes at the far end of the block. Normal. On the surface. Underneath—
Nothing about this is normal anymore. I look at the bookstore one last time. She’s inside.
Close enough that I could cross the street in seconds. Close enough that every instinct I have is already calculating distance, access, timing. Too close to ignore. Too dangerous to approach. The balance is breaking. I can feel it.
I turn away before that pull gets any stronger, forcing my steps back toward the garage this time. Because if I stand here any longer—
I won’t leave. And if I stop leaving—
Everyone will notice. And the moment that happens—
She stops being hidden. She becomes a target.
My hands curl into fists at my sides as I walk.
Because the truth is settling in whether I like it or not.
Avoiding her was supposed to protect her.
Keeping distance was supposed to keep things contained.
But with rogues circling and watchers tracking every move—
Distance is starting to look like the biggest vulnerability of all. And I don’t know how much longer I can pretend otherwise.