The scent of the Columbus bakery pastries—butter, flaky crust, and sweet raspberry—now made my stomach turn. Julian sat at the mahogany dining table, casually biting into a croissant while tapping away on his tablet.

The national news continued to broadcast reports of the massive federal cleanup in Washington and Cleveland, praising Detective Thomas Vance as an exemplary law enforcement hero who had successfully dismantled the Apex Syndicate single-handedly.

On the eighth day, my phone pinged with a single, encrypted text message from an unknown number.

I opened it. It was a short video clip recorded from the dashcam of an unmarked police cruiser parked outside an empty mountain cabin.

In the video, Thomas Vance stood in front of the camera, looking directly into the lens with a cold, mocking smile.

“Nice hideout, Clara. But you can't run forever. Sooner or later, your phone battery dies. And when it does... I'll be waiting.”

The video cut to black.

I didn't flinch. I didn't feel fear. I simply reached into my pocket, plugged my phone into a portable high-capacity solar generator sitting on the wooden table, and watched the battery indicator glow bright, steady green at 100%.

I picked up my coffee mug, took a calm sip, and looked out over the endless expanse of the rugged mountains.

Let him hunt.