Page 81 of Easy, Tiger

"For almost ten months, it looks like. They started following me late last year when I first started questioning the inconsistencies in their seasonal data. My movements, my questions, the illustrations getting too close to the truth. All documented."

"That's why you ended up in Red Pine."

The pieces align with horrible clarity. "They drove me here. The scandal destroyed my reputation everywhere except small towns desperate enough to hire anyone. The anonymous Red Pine commission was them—it was the only option they left me."

I find a folder labeled Phase Two – Gallagher Utilization and my stomach clenches. Inside are detailed plans for pushing me toward Red Pine to use me as an unwitting scout. "Nico's team was losing your trails in the deep terrain," I breathe into the radio. "They needed my specific eye for patterns to finish the map. They ruined my reputation first so that even if I figured out the truth about shifters, no mainstream scientist would ever take me seriously."

"Jesus Christ, Halsey."

"But here's what their plan overlooked." Tucking the final folder into my pack secures Pascal's panicked communications from recent weeks. "They expected me to either run screaming or become a useful idiot doing their tracking for them. They never considered I might fall in love with one of their targets and choose to fight back."

Nolan speaks with grim satisfaction. "Which means we have them."

"Every bit of it. Financial records proving the conspiracy and communication logs depicting this were premeditated for years. Pascal's career dies the moment this goes public."

"And yours gets resurrected."

The thought hits me like sunlight after months of shadow. All those sleepless nights wondering what I'd done wrong, all the self-doubt and professional shame, none of it was real. I was targeted because I was good at my job, not because I was bad at it.

"The scientific community owes you one hell of an apology," Nolan says.

"They owe me more than that. I don't want anyone else getting hurt because of what they started. Right now, let's focus on making sure Nico can't⁠—"

A sharp beeping cuts through the tent, coming from a small black sensor unit clipped beside the laptop, its light flashing red. Nico had rigged his abandoned crates.

"What is that?" I say, half to myself, half into the radio.

Then gunfire rips through the earpiece, sharp and distant on Nolan's end. I stop mid-sentence, every muscle locking up.

"Nolan?"

A burst of white noise answers me. Three full seconds tick by before anything else comes through—branches snapping and someone's winded breathing.

"Nolan!"

Owen's voice comes through instead, clipped and urgent. "He figured out the ambush was a bust. He was already heading back to his snowmobile when your camp alarm triggered. He was much closer than we thought."

"Did you stop him?" My hands shake around the radio, evidence forgotten.

"Nolan got a sniper shot off as he hit the throttle. Grazed his upper arm, but it didn't stop him. He's on the machine, racing back to you right now. We can't close the distance on foot fast enough."

The transmission cuts. I wait, radio clutched hard against my ear, counting my own heartbeats until it crackles back to life, Nolan's breathing ragged on the other end.

"Halsey, do you copy?"

"I'm here. What's happening?"

"He's bleeding, but he's on the snowmobile and moving too fast. We are converging on foot, but you need to get out of there now." Something in his voice cracks slightly before he forces it back under control. "Get to the logging junction, the one we passed climbing up here this morning, the flat spot with the old equipment shed. Broddi knows it."

"What about you?"

"Don't worry about me. I'll get to you, I promise. Just move."

Shoving the most critical files into my pack—Pascal's memo, the business card, and the Phase Two folder—I abandon the rest. Evidence can wait. Right now, all that matters is putting distance between me and a wounded, cornered man who has nothing left to lose.

"Broddi!"

He's beside me before I finish calling his name, already inspecting the treeline. "I heard. Junction's this way; come on."