Page 150 of Only the Hunter

There it is. The line of fire.

My jaw tightens. “Absolutely not.”

Evie doesn’t flinch. “It’s implied, Gabe. Not stated. The motion references custody of the evidence pending formal submission. They’ll assume I control it—that I’ve had it since Switzerland.”

Hudson steps forward. “You understand what this exposes us to, Evie. If DOJ catches wind of us intercepting internal traffic⁠—”

“I’ve thought through that,” she says, and her voice doesn’t waver. “My account. My filing. My evidence chain. KOAN isn’t anywhere in the document. What you’re doing is watching the response to a legal action I’m taking in my professional capacity. I’m the one filing a motion. I’m the one with standing to do it. That’s not interception—that’s surveillance of activity my own filing generates.”

Hudson holds her gaze.

“It’s cleaner than anything else we have,” she adds. “And it’s the only play that doesn’t require us to already know who we’re looking for.”

A beat.

“She’s already exposed,” I say—hating every single word.

Hudson looks at me. Then back to Evie.

Then he nods once. “Do it.”

While Evie drafts the final version at the conference table, Jake and Noah slip out. Brie’s in transit to meet them.

They have two hours, maybe three, before we need to move Evie—assuming this catches the DOJ insider’s attention. That’s enough time to position around her block. I’d rather have the perimeter set before she arrives than after—if anyone is watching her townhome, I want to know before she walks through that door.

Yes, we have cameras. But cameras can be evaded. Blocked. We’re not dealing with amateurs. They haven’t been successful yet—to our knowledge. The goal before may have been intimidation. This might change the directive.

Hudson stays. He and I don’t talk about it, but we both understand: the hotel is the safe room. Quiet, off-routine, no reason for anyone to associate it with Evie. The moment she goes home, that calculus changes. She becomes visible again. Findable.

That’s the point.

This may not work. They may not act. But if they do, we have to be ready.

It’s feeling like a one-shot game.

I watch her work.

She doesn’t ask for my input on the legal language, and I don’t offer it. This is her terrain—not mine to navigate, not mine to second-guess. But I watch her posture, the way her shoulders don’t climb toward her ears, the way she blinks exactly as often as she should. She’s not imitating calm. She is calm. She’s been running this play in her head for days. Doing the prep work. Considering the angles.

That should probably unsettle me. It doesn’t.

She hits send at 2:47 p.m.

Quinn’s voice comes through the comm line immediately. “Traffic on the account. Someone accessed within ninety seconds.”

Ninety seconds.

“Forwarding to an external IP,” Quinn continues. “Encrypted relay. East Coast server farm.”

“Trace it,” Hudson says.

“Already running. Give me a few minutes.”

Evie closes the laptop gently and folds her hands on the table.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Yes.”