31. Tessa
TESSA
Ifirst hear the warning through the bookstore radio, a crackling emergency channel that normally stays silent unless something is wrong. The voice on the other end is sharp, breathless, clipped in a way that makes my stomach tighten before I even process the words.
“Possible hostile movement near the north forest edge. Civilians advised to stay indoors or evacuate toward town center.”
I don’t wait for clarification. The bookstore is quiet except for the soft tick of the old wall clock and the distant hum of Redwood Crossing outside, too normal for a message like that. I grab my phone, already pulling up the contact list Archer insisted I memorize.
But Archer isn’t here. Of course he isn’t. I hit Delilah’s number instead. It rings once.
Twice.
“Please pick up,” I plead breathlessly.
Delilah answers on the third ring, her voice tense. “Tessa? Tell me that wasn’t what I just heard over the patrol channel.”
“It was,” I say. “Where are you?”
“Main street. We’ve got tourists still wandering near the forest trailheads. Brooke and I are trying to turn them back, but people don’t listen when you say ‘possible danger’ in a place like this.”
I close my eyes for half a second. “Then I’m coming to you.”
“You shouldn’t leave the bookstore—”
“I’m already moving.”
I end the call before she can argue. The streets outside Redwood Crossing look deceptively calm, sunlight spilling between tall trees, shop windows glowing warm and inviting. It’s the kind of peaceful town that makes danger feel like something that happens somewhere else.
I know better now. I lock the bookstore door behind me and start jogging toward Main Street. When I reach Delilah, the situation has already shifted.
Three tourists stand at the edge of the road arguing with Brooke, who has her arms crossed and her stance planted like she could physically block stupidity itself. Delilah is trying to redirect a group of hikers toward the town center, her voice calm but strained.
“They’re just hikers,” one of the tourists is saying. “We’ve done trails like this all over the state.”
“This isn’t about your experience level,” Delilah replies tightly. “It’s about current conditions. You need to turn back.”
I step into the group just as something in the forest line moves. Not wind. Not animals.
Intent. My instincts flare before my mind catches up.
“Delilah,” I say quietly.
Her eyes flick to me immediately. “Yeah?”
“There are more than hikers out there.”
As if on cue, three additional figures emerge from the tree line behind the group of tourists.
They look normal at first glance—backpacks, hiking boots, jackets dusted with forest debris—but something about the way they move is wrong.
Too synchronized. Too aware. Their eyes don’t scan the scenery the way tourists do.
They track exits. They’re measuring the town. Brooke notices at the same time I do. Her posture shifts instantly.
“Delilah,” Brooke says under her breath, “those aren’t ours.”
Delilah’s hand moves subtly toward her radio. Too late. One of the newcomers smiles.
“It’s a beautiful town,” he says casually. “We were told it was open to visitors.”
I feel the shift in the air—the moment a lie stops being a misunderstanding and becomes a threat.
“No,” I say firmly, stepping forward. “You were told wrong. Turn around and leave.”
The man tilts his head slightly, as if amused. Behind him, another shifts just a fraction closer to the tourists. Not random. Positioning.
“Delilah,” I say again, sharper now.
She has already keyed her radio.
“Conrad,” she says into it. “We’ve got potential infiltration at the north entry point. Repeat—non-local group blending with civilian hikers.”
A pause.
Then Conrad’s voice comes through, low and immediate. “Hold them there. Do not engage unless necessary. Backup is moving.”
I don’t take my eyes off the group. The man smiles wider.
“Backup,” he repeats softly. “Interesting choice of word.”
Then everything happens at once. One of the disguised rogues steps toward the tourists.
Brooke moves to intercept. Delilah shouts into her radio again. And the forest behind them erupts with motion. Not one group. Not two. Multiple figures break cover from different angles, moving in staggered formations along the treeline as if testing pressure points around the town’s edge.
My breath catches.
“They’re not entering from one point,” I say.
Delilah glances at me sharply.
I point, tracking movement as more shapes appear farther down the road. “They’re spreading. They’re probing multiple access routes.”
Brooke curses under her breath. “That’s coordinated.”
Delilah’s voice drops. “That’s organized.”
The disguised rogue in front of us takes one step back. Not retreating. Signaling. And then the attack begins. Not a full assault—something worse. A test.
One rogue suddenly grabs a tourist’s arm. Brooke reacts instantly, pulling the person back. Delilah shoves another behind her. I step in without thinking, placing myself between the group and the attackers.
“Enough,” I snap.
The word carries more authority than I expect. For a split second, everything pauses. Then the rogue smiles again.
“Interesting,” he says softly. “You’ve got a new anchor point.”
And then he’s gone. Not fleeing—falling back into the trees as if he’s gotten what he came for.
The others follow in coordinated withdrawal, slipping between trunks and brush with eerie precision.
Within seconds, the forest looks normal again.
Too normal. Silence rushes in to fill the space they leave behind.
One of the tourists exhales shakily. “What… what was that?”
No one answers him. I’m already pulling out my phone again.
“We need full communication coverage,” I say. “Every business on alert. Every patrol route active.”
Delilah stares at me. “Tessa—”
“No,” I cut in. “This isn’t isolated. That wasn’t a scouting party looking for weakness. That was multiple entry pressure points. They’re mapping the town.”
Brooke looks toward the forest line, jaw tight. “So what’s the target?”
I don’t answer immediately. Because I already know. Not the town. Not the roads.
Not the perimeter. Me. I swallow once, hard, then force my voice steady.
“Conrad needs to know this isn’t a single incursion,” I say. “It’s layered. They’re attacking from multiple directions to split response time.”
Delilah nods and keys her radio again. I turn toward Main Street, already moving. Behind me, I hear Brooke fall into step.
“You’re taking charge of this,” Brooke says.
I don’t slow down. “I’m coordinating. There’s a difference.”
But even as I say it, I feel it settle into place. People are already looking to me. Business owners leaning out of doorways. Civilians asking questions I’m answering without hesitation. Radio chatter routing through my phone. Delilah handling evacuation flow. Brooke handling physical direction.
And me—somehow—holding the entire communication structure together as if I’ve been doing it for years instead of days.
By the time we reach the bookstore again, I realize something. I’m not just reacting anymore. I’m the node everything passes through. The center point. The anchor. And somewhere in the forest beyond the town limits, something is testing exactly how stable that anchor really is.
I look down at my phone as another message comes in from a patrol unit. Multiple contacts confirmed along eastern ridge. Another from the south access road. Then west. I exhale slowly.
“Okay,” I say quietly to myself. “So that’s how this is going to go.”
I open the communication channel again and begin rerouting every available resource, my voice steady even as the town around me starts to shift into defense mode. Redwood Crossing is no longer just a town. It’s a network. And I’m holding it together.
I barely have time to process the scale of what’s happening before the next wave of updates starts coming in.
My phone vibrates continuously in my hand, each alert stacking over the last like a rising tide I can’t pause to breathe between.
Patrol units check in from the north ridge, then the east access road, then two volunteer runners from Main Street who relay updates on foot because the radio network is already overloaded.
I move through it like muscle memory I didn’t know I had.
“North ridge team, hold position and do not engage unless visual confirmation of hostile movement,” I say into my phone, already typing another message with my free hand. “East access road, reroute civilians to the bookstore staging area. Repeat—do not send them toward the forest perimeter.”
Delilah steps closer, watching me. “You’re not even hesitating anymore.”
“I don’t have time to hesitate,” I reply.
A burst of static crackles through one of the patrol channels, followed by a panicked voice. “We’ve got movement again—multiple points, I can’t—there’s too many—”
I immediately key in. “Stay calm. Identify direction markers. North, south, east, or west?”
A beat of silence.
“West,” the voice says finally.
I exhale sharply. That matches the earlier pattern.
“They’re tightening the circle,” I murmur under my breath.
Brooke looks at me. “Around what?”
I don’t answer immediately. Because the answer is becoming harder to ignore. Not the town. Not the roads. Me. I lift my voice again as I redirect another incoming report, my tone steady even as the pressure builds around me like unseen walls closing in.
“Then we tighten ours first,” I say.