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He settled into the rhythm of the climb, his muscles quickly remembering how the mountain felt under him. He’d spent years in mountains just like this, clearing trails and searching for anyone who needed help.

The guys on the mountain behind him had military bootcamp under their belts and a few had a deployment or two before they entered Black Heart training. But their skills didn’t match his up here.

As they reached a higher altitude, the trees went from thick forest to scant clumps of pines clinging to the rock. Then it was only jagged ridges and low oxygen levels. Wyatt was accustomed to hiking in such conditions, but when he paused to look back at his team, he saw some of them wasn’t as experienced.

It should have made him smile, seeing them struggle. But he wasn’t here to best them—he was here to work as a team to reach camp.

Bradley stopped and squinted at his own compass, jaw set. “We’re off the trail, Rhodes.”

“It’s this way.” Wyatt pointed east, toward the saddle between two peaks he’d already fixed against his map twice.

“Not there. Here.” Bradley jabbed a finger toward a ridge that looked identical to every other ridge. If they didn’t know what they were reading, they would be tricked. But he knew better.

He held his ground. “These are the coordinates. I confirmed it twice. That way’s no good. Ground’s unstable.”

Bradley hiked several yards away and took a step onto the outcrop to prove his point. He flung out his arms for emphasis, and his boot came down hard on a slab of loose rock.

He stood there all of three seconds before the rock started to give way under him without warning.

“Get back!” one of the guys bellowed just as Bradley’s face registered shock.

He scrambled fast, cursing as gravel and dust rained down into the ravine below and one solid chunk of the mountain struck with a final sound that rang in their ears.

Wyatt just shook his head. He didn’t say told you so. He didn’t need to.

The guys followed him east, with Bradley taking up the rear. Though Wyatt walked some distance ahead of the others, he still heard muttering behind his back.

Two hours later, basecamp appeared exactly where he’d claimed it would be. The guys followed him in, and not one of them looked at him any differently. He’d proven himself, but apparently that didn’t buy him a damn thing with the team.

Once the tents were pitched and Silva had the fire going, Wyatt peeled off from the group to walk the perimeter. Partly out of duty and mostly to gain distance from all the team-building he wasn’t included in. If they noticed he walked away, nobody bothered to stop him.

God, it felt good to be out here again. Damn good. He’d missed the way nature wrapped around him like an old friend. It put a little pep in his step, and tapped old stores of energy.

Scanning the landscape, he looked for wildlife and any signs of danger. Though if he told the team to avoid those places, it was unlikely they’d listen.

And the trainers said he wasn’t a team player.

He turned in a half circle, staring at the places between shadow and light, when he spotted something odd.

Tucked against a stand of scrubby pines was what might look like a pile of fallen branches to anyone else.

He knew better.

It was a lean-to.

He dropped back a step into the shadow and peered around. The crude structure could have been left here by a previous Black Heart training team. But it looked too primitive for them. Branches were lashed together with thin rope instead of paracord, built low and close to the rock. It wasn’t old either—the lashings hadn’t faded color or frayed in the elements.

Certain he was alone up here, he stepped out of the shadows and approached the lean-to. He crouched at the entrance, senses sharpening. After assisting in so many search and rescues, he knew how to determine how recently someone was here.

He circled the site, reading it like a missing hiker’s last known camp. There was cold ash from the remnants of a fire. All that remained was a charred knot of wood. A patch of leaves had obviously been scooped inside, flattened where a body had lain.

Then he saw the stems.

A small pile of them, dried and browned, discarded scraps tossed aside. He picked one up and brought it to his nose. It was a leftover stalk from a wildflower, not chewed off by some animal but snapped cleanly by a human.

He rubbed the stem between his fingers and looked around again.

His team wasn’t alone up here.