Chapter 23
ELIZA
Training with Nolan starts before the sun is fully up.
The forest is quiet in that fragile, in-between way—when the night hasn’t quite let go, and the day hasn’t fully arrived. Mist clings low to the ground, weaving between tree trunks and softening the edges of everything it touches.
Including me.
“Again,” Nolan says from a few feet ahead, his voice low but steady.
I exhale slowly, crouching where I stand, trying to mirror the posture he showed me earlier. My boots press into damp earth, my balance slightly off as I adjust my weight.
I’m aware of everything at once. The uneven ground beneath me. The distant rustle of leaves. The faint sound of my own breathing. And the fact that I’m still not doing this naturally.
“You’re thinking too hard,” Nolan adds.
I look at him, frustration flickering across my face.
“I’m trying not to miss something obvious.”
“You won’t,” he says. “Not if you stop forcing it.”
That’s easy for him to say. He’s been doing this his entire life. I’ve been… adapting.
Learning as I go.
“Tracking isn’t about seeing everything at once,” he continues, stepping closer. “It’s about recognizing what doesn’t belong.”
I nod once, focusing again.
“Start with what’s in front of you,” he says. “Don’t look for the hybrid. Look for the disturbance.”
I shift my gaze downward, scanning the ground slowly. At first, it all looks the same.
Leaves. Dirt. Faint impressions from animals that passed through hours ago. Then— Something catches. A break in the pattern. A slight compression in the soil where something heavier moved through recently. Not just a single step, but a sequence—intentional, directional.
“Footprints,” I murmur.
“Not just footprints,” Nolan corrects. “Movement.”
I follow the line with my eyes, tracing it as it weaves between roots and rocks, subtle but consistent.
“They’re not wandering,” I say.
“No,” he replies. “They’re traveling with purpose.”
I move forward a few steps, crouching again near where the ground shifts slightly.
There are marks here—light impressions in the soil, partially obscured but still visible if you know what to look for.
“And these?” I ask.
Nolan kneels beside me.
“Weight distribution,” he says. “See how the pressure changes here? That tells you how fast they were moving.”
I study it carefully.
“Slower here,” I say, pointing.
“Why?”
I hesitate, then think it through.
“Turning,” I answer. “Adjusting direction.”
He nods once.
“Good.”
A small sense of accomplishment settles in my chest, but it’s quickly replaced by focus again. Because this isn’t just an exercise. This is preparation.
“For what we’re dealing with,” Nolan continues, rising back to his feet, “you won’t always get clear tracks. Sometimes it’ll be broken. Partial. Distorted.”
“Because of the hybrids,” I say.
“Because of everything,” he corrects.
I stand as well, brushing dirt from my hands.
“Then how do you follow something that doesn’t want to be followed?” I ask.
Nolan looks at me for a moment, assessing.
“By learning what it leaves behind anyway.”
We move deeper into the forest after that, Nolan setting a slower pace as we transition from practice to real-world application.
“Stay quiet,” he reminds me.
I nod. This time, I’m more aware of my movements. Each step is deliberate. Each shift of weight controlled. I place my foot carefully before committing to it, avoiding branches that might snap or leaves that might betray movement. It’s not perfect. But it’s better.
“Stop,” Nolan says suddenly.
I freeze immediately.
“What is it?” I whisper.
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he crouches, examining a section of bark on a nearby tree.
“Look at this,” he says.
I step closer, lowering myself beside him. There are marks carved into the bark—thin, shallow lines that don’t look accidental. They’re too consistent. Too intentional.
“They’ve been here,” I say.
Nolan nods.
“Recent.”
My stomach tightens slightly.
“Not wolves,” I add.
“No,” he says. “Something else.”
I scan the surrounding trees, and that’s when I start noticing more of them. Similar markings. Spaced at intervals. Forming a rough pattern that follows a loose path through the forest.
“They’re marking territory,” I say slowly.
Nolan’s expression hardens slightly.
“Not just territory,” he replies. “Routes.”
I frown.
“Routes to where?”
“To us,” he says.
The words settle heavily between us. My pulse picks up.
“They’re mapping patrol areas,” I realize.
“Exactly.”
I look back at the markings, a cold awareness creeping in as the implications click into place.
“They’re learning where we move,” I say.
“And when,” Nolan adds.
I exhale slowly, trying to steady myself.
“This isn’t random,” I say. “It’s organized.”
“Yeah,” Nolan replies. “And it’s getting more precise.”
We continue along the path, now both of us actively scanning for signs instead of simply walking.
I notice more details this time. Broken twigs that align in a direction consistent with movement.
Disturbed patches of ground that suggest repeated use.
Overlapping impressions that indicate multiple creatures passing through the same routes at different times. Patterns within patterns.
“They’re coordinating,” I say quietly.
Nolan glances at me.
“You’re seeing it now.”
I nod.
“They’re not just hunting,” I continue. “They’re positioning.”
“Yeah.”
I stop walking for a moment, turning slightly to look back the way we came.
“If they know our routes,” I say, “then they can predict where we’ll be.”
“That’s the idea,” Nolan replies.
My mind races ahead. The canyon. The staging areas. The hybrid ambush. All of it starts to align into something larger than isolated incidents.
“They’re preparing for something,” I say.
Nolan doesn’t respond immediately. Because he knows I’m right. When he finally speaks, his voice is lower than before.
“They’re preparing for us.”
We return to town later than expected, the sun now higher in the sky, its light cutting through the trees in sharp angles. I feel different walking back. Not just more confident. More aware. More capable. But also more alert to everything around me. Every movement.
Every shift in the environment. Every detail that might otherwise go unnoticed. Because now I know—
The forest isn’t just where we live. It’s being watched. And learned. And if we don’t adapt fast enough— We won’t be the ones controlling the terrain for much longer. The sense of being watched hasn’t faded. If anything, it’s sharpened.
Not into something overt. But into something quieter. More calculated.
“Hold up,” Nolan says as we step onto the worn path leading in.
I stop immediately, glancing at him. He’s looking back toward the tree line, his expression thoughtful.
“Something’s off,” he says.
I follow his gaze, scanning the forest edge again. Nothing obvious stands out. No movement. No sound. But that’s the point.
“They’ve been quiet,” I say slowly.
“Too quiet,” Nolan agrees.
I shift my weight slightly, suddenly hyper-aware of the boundary between forest and town. Between wilderness and safety.
“If they’re mapping routes,” I say, “they already know this path.”
Nolan nods once.
“Which means they don’t need to be here right now to observe us.”
The implication settles in.
“They’ve already done it,” I say.
“Yeah.”
A chill runs through me that has nothing to do with the morning air.
I glance back toward the trees one more time.
For a brief second— I imagine eyes watching from within the shadows.
Not rushing. Not revealing themselves. Just…
observing. Learning. Then I force the thought away and turn forward again.
“Let’s get back,” Nolan says.
I nod.
Inside the town, things feel normal at first glance. People moving between buildings.
Voices carrying in small clusters. The steady rhythm of daily life continuing despite everything happening just beyond the borders. But now that I’ve seen what Nolan showed me— I notice things differently.
Foot traffic patterns. The way people instinctively cluster near certain paths. The routes they take without thinking. I start recognizing them the way I recognized the tracks in the forest.
Predictable. Repeatable. Exploitable.
“That’s not reassuring,” I say under my breath.
“What?” Nolan asks.
“Nothing,” I say quickly. “Just… seeing things differently now.”
He gives a small nod.
“Good,” he says. “That means it’s working.”
We split up near the center of town, Nolan heading off to report to Garrett while I go to the clinic. Clara looks up as soon as I step inside.
“Back already?” she asks.
I nod, moving to wash my hands at the basin.
“We found something,” I say.
Her expression shifts immediately.
“Tell me.”
I dry my hands and step closer, lowering my voice slightly even though the room is mostly empty.
“They’re marking routes,” I explain. “Tracking patrol patterns. Not just in the forest—they’re learning how we move through the town too, indirectly.”
Clara’s brow furrows.
“Indirectly?”
“They don’t need to come inside to understand how we operate,” I say. “They just need to observe the edges. The paths. The routines.”
She exhales slowly.
“That’s… not good.”
“No,” I agree. “It means they’re thinking ahead.”
Clara leans back slightly, crossing her arms.
“Then we need to think ahead faster,” she says.
I nod.
“That’s what Nolan’s working on.”
She glances at me, then softens slightly.
“And you?”
I hesitate.
“Still learning,” I admit. “But I’m starting to see the patterns.”
Clara studies me, then gives a small, approving nod.
“That’s how you stay ahead of something like this,” she says. “You stop reacting to individual events and start recognizing systems.”
Her words echo what Nolan said earlier. And what the investigation notes hinted at. Everything is connected. Everything feeds into something larger.
A short while later, I find myself outside again, drawn toward the quieter edge of town.
Not the forest this time. Just the boundary where buildings thin out and open space begins to take over. I stop near one of the outer markers that define the town’s limits, looking out toward the trees in the distance.
From here, the forest looks peaceful. Almost untouched.
But I know better now. I crouch slightly, inspecting the bark of a tree.
At first, I don’t see anything unusual. Then, after a moment— I spot it.
A faint marking. Similar to the ones Nolan showed me.
Thin lines carved subtly into the surface. My pulse quickens slightly.
“Not here too…” I murmur.
I trace the marking lightly with my fingers, careful not to disturb it further. It’s recent.
Not older than a day or two. Which means— They’ve already extended their mapping this far.
“They’re closer than we thought,” I say quietly.
I stand again, scanning the surrounding area more carefully now. If there’s one marking, there may be more. And if there are more— Then the perimeter isn’t just being observed. It’s being understood. A voice behind me breaks the silence.
“You see it too.”
I turn to find Gideon approaching, his expression serious as he stops a few feet away.
“Yes,” I say.
He nods once, as if confirming something he already suspected.
“We found similar marks along the northern edge,” he says. “Nolan mentioned you still were working on tracking.”
“I am,” I reply.
“Then you should know,” Gideon adds, his tone tightening slightly, “this isn’t just reconnaissance anymore.”
I meet his gaze.
“I know.”
He glances toward the forest, then back at me.
“They’re building toward something,” he says.
I nod slowly.
“They’re building toward us.”
Gideon doesn’t argue. Because now that we’ve seen the markings, the patterns, the coordinated movement— There’s no other explanation that fits as cleanly.
“They’re preparing,” he says.
“Yes.”
“And when they’re done preparing…”
I finish the thought for him.
“They’ll act.”
Silence settles. Not uncomfortable. Just heavy. Because both of us understand what that means. This isn’t a slow-moving threat anymore. It’s something that’s actively shaping itself into a coordinated force.
And we’re no longer guessing at its intentions. We’re watching them form. Gideon shifts his stance slightly.
“Garrett needs to know about the markings at the perimeter,” he says.
“He will,” I reply.
He gives a short nod, then turns to leave. But before he goes, he pauses briefly.
“You’re doing better out here than most would,” he says.
I blink slightly, not expecting that.
“Thanks,” I reply.
He doesn’t elaborate. Just gives a slight nod and heads back toward the center of town. The markings are subtle. Easy to miss if you’re not looking for them. But now that I know they’re there— I can’t unsee them.
And that, more than anything else, is what makes this feel different. Because the enemy isn’t just approaching. It’s learning. And if we don’t keep pace with that— We won’t just be reacting to attacks. We’ll be reacting to a plan we never saw coming.