The woods were wrong.
Brian felt it before anyone said it.
The perimeter team had tightened to within sixty yards of the cabin. Night had fallen again, giving tactical advantage — but also concealing whatever Jack had done to the terrain.
"Thermal steady," the FBI tech whispered.
"Two inside."
No movement outside.
Too quiet.
Brian crouched low, studying the forest floor through night optics.
Pine needles.
Brush.
Uneven soil.
Something about the spacing felt unnatural.
"Slow your step," he ordered through comms. "Watch the ground."
Ten yards to the west flank, Agent Miller shifted weight to reposition.
There was a metallic snap.
Then a scream.
The sound ripped through the woods.
Brian's head snapped toward it.
Miller dropped instantly, rifle falling from his hands.
A steel jaw had clamped around his lower leg.
Heavy.
Industrial.
Not small-game equipment.
Blood darkened the leaves beneath him.
"Trap!" someone shouted.
Brian moved immediately, but stopped short when he saw it.
The trap wasn't random.
It was anchored by a chain to a buried metal stake.
And it wasn't alone.
Two more were partially concealed nearby beneath pine cover.
"Freeze!" Brian barked. "Nobody move!"
Inside the cabin, Jack's head lifted slowly.
He heard the scream.
A slow, cold smile formed.
"They stepped wrong," he said quietly.
Sarah's stomach dropped.
"You did that?"
"I prepared."
Outside, Miller groaned in pain.
"Hold still!" another agent shouted.
They carefully pried the steel jaws open with two pry bars.
It took force.
When the trap was finally released, blood poured freely from deep puncture wounds.
"Medics!" someone hissed urgently.
Brian scanned the surrounding area.
"Find the pattern," he ordered.
Tactical officers dropped to their knees, sweeping flashlights low across the ground.
Another trap.
Then another.
All are partially buried.
All positioned along likely approach paths.
"This isn't random," the Chief muttered beside Brian.
"No," Brian said grimly.
"He mapped our movement."
Inside the cabin, Jack paced slowly now.
"They always assume terrain is neutral," he said.
Sarah stared at him.
"They're going to find them."
"Yes."
"And then what?"
He stopped.
"They'll hesitate."
Outside, medics dragged Miller back carefully, applying a tourniquet.
Brian's jaw tightened.
"How many?" he asked.
"At least eight so far," Tactical replied.
"Spread in a crescent around the front perimeter."
Brian exhaled slowly.
"He anticipated a breach."
"Yes."
"And he wants to injure, not kill."
"For now."
Then—
A second sharp metallic click.
Everyone froze.
But this time it wasn't a leg trap.
A tripwire had been disturbed further north.
A flash of sparks ignited near a tree base.
Small.
Contained.
But violent enough to throw debris outward.
An officer was knocked backward.
Not fatal.
But bleeding from shrapnel-like fragments of rock and wood.
"Perimeter hazards confirmed!" Tactical shouted.
Brian's pulse pounded.
Jack had turned the forest into teeth.
Inside the cabin, Jack heard the second detonation.
He closed his eyes briefly.
"They're pushing too fast," he murmured.
Sarah's chest tightened.
"You're going to kill someone."
"They shouldn't be here."
"They're here for me."
"You're with me."
Outside, command tightened control.
"Pull back outer line," the Chief ordered.
"No," Brian said sharply.
The Chief turned.
"He's injuring our people."
"He wants us reactive."
"And we're not."
Brian stared at the cabin through the trees.
"He's buying time."
"For what?"
Brian didn't answer immediately.
Inside the cabin, Jack grabbed the duffel bag again.
His breathing had changed.
Faster.
More erratic.
"They're stepping into it," he muttered.
Sarah's mind raced.
If he had trapped the perimeter—
He was preparing for forced entry.
Which meant—
He expected escalation.
And if escalation came—
He might do something irreversible.
Outside, engineers were called forward to begin the slow clearing of traps.
Metal detectors swept the forest floor.
Marked flags appeared in neon orange across the perimeter.
Every flag meant danger.
Every flag meant Jack had been thinking days ahead.
Brian's radio crackled.
"We've located at least twelve mechanical traps. Two triggered. One officer is stable. One serious but not critical."
Brian closed his eyes briefly.
This was not the clean operation he had promised.
Inside the cabin, Jack approached Sarah again.
"They're hurting themselves," he said.
"You set the traps."
"They stepped."
She stared at him.
"You don't see what you've become."
He froze slightly.
"What have I become?"
"You were a detective."
"I still am."
"No."
Her voice softened.
"You're not thinking like one anymore."
His jaw tightened.
"I'm thinking like survival."
"No," she whispered.
"You're thinking like fear."
He stepped back sharply.
"I am not afraid."
Outside, the FBI tech adjusted the thermal.
"Movement inside increased."
Brian's eyes sharpened.
"He's pacing."
"Agitated?"
"Yes."
"Good," Brian muttered.
Pressure was working.
But pressure plus paranoia—
Was volatile.
Another flagged trap was uncovered near the rear tree line.
"He layered it," tactical reported.
"Front and partial rear coverage."
Brian studied the map again.
"There's a blind side."
"Where?"
"Eastern ridge drop-off."
"Steep incline."
"Less predictable approach."
The Chief looked at him.
"You want to climb that?"
"Yes."
Inside the cabin, Jack suddenly stopped pacing.
Something shifted again.
Different from before.
He moved to the back window.
Looked toward the eastern ridge.
His expression hardened.
"They're adapting."
Sarah's pulse jumped.
"How do you know?"
"They're too quiet in the front."
He grabbed his rifle.
"They'll try the slope."
Outside, Brian spoke into the mic.
"Eastern team, slow advance. Check every inch."
"Yes, sir."
The slope was treacherous.
Loose rock.
Dense roots.
Limited visibility.
But less trapped.
Halfway up, one agent nearly stepped onto another concealed trap partially hidden beneath moss.
"Hold!" he hissed.
They marked it carefully.
Even here—
Jack had prepared.
Inside the cabin, Jack stepped away from the window.
"They're closer than they think," he muttered.
Sarah's chest tightened.
"What are you going to do?"
He looked at her.
And for the first time—
There was real instability there.
"I won't let them take you."
Outside, Brian's voice remained calm but firm.
"We are not rushing."
He looked at the cabin.
Lights off.
Heat steady.
"He's cornered," the Chief said.
"Yes."
"And dangerous."
"Yes."
The forest around them now glittered faintly with neon markers identifying buried steel jaws and hidden hazards.
The ground itself had become weaponized.
And inside that cabin—
Jack was no longer negotiating.
He was defending territory.
And territory, once threatened—
Makes predators strike.