The house didn't feel like cover anymore.
It felt like a trap.
Aubrey stood near the boarded window again, but this time she wasn't just watching. She was counting.
"…eight… ten… fuck," she muttered under her breath.
"They're still coming?" Hale asked through clenched teeth, pressing his palm harder against his bleeding shoulder. Blood had soaked through his fingers and down his arm, dripping onto the floor in slow, steady taps.
"They're not passing through," Aubrey said. "They're gathering."
"That's not better," Isabella said quietly.
Terri hovered near the back door, the one they had barely managed to block again. Her hands trembled as she adjusted the furniture pushed up against it.
"They're gonna break through," she said, her voice tight. "They're gonna smell us, hear us—something—"
"They already know we're here," Hale cut in, wincing as he shifted. "That ship sailed the second I got shot."
Aubrey turned, pacing once, then twice.
Think.
