The truce that had crystallized earlier settled again, quiet and pragmatic. There was a shared understanding neither would put into words: the rogues were gone for now, but others might follow. Neither could trust the night to remain gentle.
Above the canopy, rotors kept beating. Helicopters combed the dark with pale searchlights; lines of men moved deeper into territory that ate up ordinary routes and logic.
The scent and the ruined earth left by the rogues marked the landscape. Experienced hunters would read those signs. Kade Nightshade, pushing through rain and cloud, moved steadily toward a place that had been disturbed—closer with every passing minute.
