Through the noise, a single, sharp tone sounded.

It was the emergency alert from the western ridge.

A voice came through, gasping for air.

“Boss, they aren’t waiting for dawn,” the voice said.

“They’re already in the forest.”

We rode out of the stables and into the black night.

The wind was cold, smelling of wet pine needles and ozone.

Vesper moved beneath me with a powerful, steady stride.

Her limp was gone, her shoulder muscles working smoothly under her dark coat.

I kept her close to Dante’s gray gelding.

Gregory and three other riders followed behind us.

We didn’t use flashlights.

The moon was behind thick clouds, leaving the forest in deep shadow.

“The western ridge is a trap,” I said, leaning toward Dante as our horses trotted side by side.

“Kroll wants you to go there.”

Dante looked at me, his face hard in the dim light. “Why?”

“Because the real shipment goes through the low ravine,” I said.

“My old boss, Sterling, designed those routes. I know them.”

“Sterling,” Dante repeated. “The broker.”

“Yes,” I said. “He uses the old logging trails to bypass the state lines.”