Page 41 of Fat Arranged Mate
"Fine," I concede, setting down the coffee with more force than necessary. "What do you suggest?"
***
The sheriff's hunting property sits eight miles outside town limits—a five-acre parcel backing up to national forest. No power lines, no cell service. Perfect isolation.
We approach on foot, leaving the truck hidden a mile back on an abandoned logging road. The afternoon sun filters through pine branches, casting dappled shadows across the forest floor. Beside me, Sera moves with surprising stealth for someone with limited shifting abilities, placing each step with deliberate care.
We establish a surveillance position on a ridge overlooking the small clearing. The cabin itself is unremarkable—weathered logs, metal roof, single chimney. What catches my attention is the outbuilding behind it—newer construction with reinforced walls and a padlocked door.
"There," I whisper, handing Sera the binoculars. "That structure doesn't match the rest."
She studies it, expression focused. "Could be a storage shed. Or something worse."
For what feels like hours, we observe in silence. No movement, no vehicles. The property appears deserted, but instinct tells me we're missing something.
"We need closer access," I decide finally. "Stay here as lookout. I'll circle the perimeter."
Her hand catches my wrist, fingers cool against my skin. "No. We stay together."
I open my mouth to argue, but something in her expression stops me. Not fear, exactly. Determination mixed with something else I can't quite name.
"Fine," I say again, the word becoming a pattern between us. "But follow my lead. If I signal retreat, we retreat. No debate."
She nods once, releasing my wrist. The ghost of her touch lingers as we descend the ridge in careful tandem.
Approaching from downwind, we skirt the clearing's edge. The stillness feels wrong—too complete, too manufactured. Alarm prickles along my spine.
"Something's off," I murmur, barely audible.
Sera tenses beside me, sensing my unease. We pause at the tree line, thirty yards from the outbuilding. Still no sign of life, but the hair on my arms stands on end.
"Trail cameras," Sera whispers suddenly, pointing to a barely visible black box mounted on a nearby tree. "They've got the perimeter monitored."
Clever. If we'd approached directly, we'd have announced our presence already.
"Change of plan." I scan our surroundings, calculating. "There's a maintenance access on the far side of the shed. Lower profile than the cabin."
We circle wide, using natural cover, freezing at every snapped twig or rustled leaf. The path takes us behind the outbuilding, away from any potential camera angles.
The maintenance door yields to careful manipulation—not locked, merely latched. Inside, darkness and the sharp scent of metal, oil, earth. I enter first, Sera following close enough that I feel her breath against my shoulder blades.
As our eyes adjust, the contents come into focus. The space is organized with military precision: traps of various sizes arranged by type, modified with silver components; tranquilizer guns mounted on racks; cages reinforced beyond what would be necessary for normal wildlife.
"Hunter gear," I whisper, examining a trap large enough for a full-grown wolf. "But specialized. Custom work."
Sera moves to a workbench where papers are spread beneath a battery-powered lamp. "Maps," she says softly. "With tracking data."
I join her, studying the markings. Red pins indicate capture sites; blue pins mark sightings. A chill runs through me as I recognize the patterns—these aren't random datapoints but carefully documented shifter movements. Someone has been studying pack behaviors with disturbing precision.
"They know too much," I breathe, tracing the migration routes. "These are established pack paths going back generations."
But before I can process further, the distant crunch of tires on gravel freezes us both.
"Vehicle approaching," I whisper, already calculating escape routes. "Two minutes out, maybe less."
We move toward the door, but a second engine sound joins the first—another vehicle, approaching from the opposite direction. We're about to be surrounded.
"No time," Sera hisses, scanning the small building. Her gaze locks on a narrow door in the corner. "There."
