Chapter 62: Conspiracy Creep

They geared up in the yard before dawn.

Cursed silver in small measures. Standard rifles, blades, vests. Nothing that looked like a parade. Roan checked Cass’s rig, then his own, then the line of them as if counting could keep the night from getting clever. Dante’s people were already waiting at the tree line with the vehicles idling low.

They split without speeches. Pack and resistance piled into different jeeps. Dust. Tail lights. The kind of quiet that meant everyone already knew the route.

Zariel took a jeep. Stark climbed in beside him.

The third passenger was not on the original list.

A small raccoon sat in the back seat already wired, little cameras clipped to his vest, another on a strap around his brow, one more aimed out the window like it had been born there. He had the bright, sleep-deprived look of somebody who lived on footage and theory.

“Morning,” he said. “Or whatever this is.”

Zariel glanced at him in the mirror. “Conspiracy Creep.”

“In the fur.” The raccoon tapped a lens. “I go where the official story falls apart.”

Stark did not bother pretending this was an accident. The plan was his. Creep would “sneak” into the back of a jeep and “steal” recon footage. They needed pictures of the good side doing something besides existing in rumors. Nox had given the world a massacre. This was supposed to give it an answer.

Zariel had also planned for action, whether Roan liked that part or not. In the back of the jeep was a little something extra, not fit for recon.

They rode until the road died and the woods took over. Engines cut. Khepri and Stark stayed with the vehicles. The rest of the pack, Dante, and a handful of resistance moved out on foot.

Roan noticed the raccoon two steps into the trees.

“What the hell is he doing here?”

Zariel did not slow down. “He is coming along.”