Driscoll nodded. “That’s your window. He’ll hit a rural clinic or a veterinary supply depot. We have three possible targets along his route.” She handed each a slim dossier. “Go quiet. No local law. No air support. Twenty-nine can hear helicopter rotors from four miles out.”

Morrow holstered his pistol. He looked at the dark line of cypress trees, the black water, the place where 29 had vanished. “Then let’s not disappoint him,” he said. And the Manhunters walked into the flood.

Morrow closed his eyes for a long second. Then he gave the order. “We contain the area. No shots unless I call it. Vega, you and Kō flank south. Phlox, jam every frequency except ours. Driscoll, hold the extraction point.”

Outside, rain turned to thunder. Vega knelt by tire tracks leading into the swamp—not away from it. “He doubled back,” Vega whispered. “He’s not trying to escape. He’s drawing us in, one by one.”