Moving position, they looked at each other. "They moved in the night," she said. "Yes, they're not north anymore." "No," he said. "They're northwest."
"Which is closer?" she said. "Yes." They went back inside. That evening, Hadley walked the perimeter of the property, not the full fence. That was miles.
The immediate perimeter. The ground between the cabin and the tree lines on three sides. Looking for things that weren't there yesterday. Looking for the small signs. Compressed snow where there shouldn't be compression.
A branch moved the wrong way. The stillness that comes when something that moves through a space has moved through it and gone. He found it at the west tree line. Boot prints. Two sets.
Coming in from the tree line. Stopping about 30 yards from the cabin. Standing. You can tell standing from walking by the depth of the impression, the lack of directional drag. Standing for some time.
Then withdrawing back into the trees. He crouched over the prints. They weren't fresh. Last night, maybe. Before the snow softened this morning.
Which meant someone had stood 30 yards from this cabin in the dark last night and watched it. And he hadn't known. He'd been looking north. They'd come from the west. He stood up slowly.
The mathematics changed. Because this wasn't Malone moving through the area looking for sign. This was Malone having already found sign. Already identified this cabin. Already been close enough to watch the firelight in the windows.
They weren't searching. They were waiting. Waiting for what he didn't know yet. The right number of men. The right moment.
Some plan he couldn't see the shape of from here. He walked back to the cabin. His hands were steady. His breathing was steady. That was the thing he'd learned.
You can feel fear like a weather system moving through you and keep your hands steady at the same time. Fear is not the problem. Fear is information. The problem is when you let it do your thinking for you. He opened the door.
Both women looked up from across the room. He said, "Somebody was watching the cabin last night." A beat. "How close?" Nayeli said.
"Close enough." Tsula's hand stopped moving over the drawing she'd been adding to. Just stopped. Frozen mid-motion. Then she set the charcoal down carefully and looked at her sister.
Nayeli looked at Hadley. "What do we do?" she said. And it struck him then, the weight of the word we. She hadn't said what do you do or what should we do or any hedged version of the question. Just we, flat and assumed.