~**Third Person**~
ONE DAY LATER.
The conference room hummed with unease. Maps, satellite images, and tactical notes were spread across the long steel table.
The men and women gathered there looked tense, some chewing on their pens, others tapping their fingers restlessly.
"They are too fast," one of the younger officers muttered, almost to himself. "We can't track something that moves like a shadow. By the time you spot them, you are already dead, and they have proved that before."
Brackham slammed his palm on the table, making everyone flinch. His coffee mug rattled dangerously close to the edge.
"Then we don't have to chase them and get killed," he snapped. "We will make them come to us instead."
A hush fell over the room. Brackham leaned forward, his eyes sharp and burning with frustration.
"What about the cameras we placed in the woods? What is left of them? Have they captured anything since then?"
