Dawn did not bring relief.
It brought exposure.
The sky lightened slowly over Table Rock Lake, washing the ridge and shoreline in a pale gray that erased shadows and thinned concealment.
Brian felt the shift immediately.
"Light's working against us now," tactical muttered.
"Agreed," Brian said quietly.
Under the night cover, movement had been possible in inches.
Under morning light, every inch became a risk.
Across the lake, the cabin stood still.
Smoke from the earlier rifle discharge lingered faintly around the broken back window. The structure looked calm from a distance.
Too calm.
"Drone still airborne," tech confirmed. "Altitude slightly higher. Wider sweep."
Jack had adjusted for daylight.
Inside the cabin, the lantern had been extinguished. Natural light filtered in through cracked wood slats.
Jack stood near the front window with a rifle resting loosely but ready in his hands.
He hadn't slept.
Sarah could see it in his eyes now.
The control was still there.
But it was thinner.
More brittle.
He checked the tablet again.
Heat signatures on the ridge were clearer in daylight.
He could see them now.
Not clearly — but enough.
"They're closer," he said softly.
Molly's pulse hammered.
Sarah said nothing.
Jack moved quickly to the rear hatch again, pulling the waterproof pack fully out this time.
He unzipped it.
Inside:
Extra ammunition
Water pouches
A folded map
Flares
A small ignition device
Sarah saw it all.
He was staging an exit.
And he was deciding something.
Outside, Brian saw movement inside through binoculars.
"He's mobilizing," he said.
"How?" the Chief asked.
"Rear quadrant."
The ridge team tightened formation.
"Helicopter one, descend to visual confirmation altitude," Brian ordered.
"Copy."
The helicopter dipped lower this time — not reckless, but deliberate.
Rotor wash rippled across treetops.
Inside the cabin, Jack's head snapped upward at the change in sound.
Too low.
Too close.
He stepped into the front doorway frame for a better angle and fired twice in quick succession.
The first shot grazed the helicopter's undercarriage.
The second hit more solidly.
Warning alarms screamed in the cockpit.
"We're hit!" the pilot shouted. "Hydraulics compromised!"
The helicopter jerked violently sideways, fighting stability.
Smoke trailed faintly from its tail assembly.
"Pull up! Pull up!" came over the radio.
Inside the cabin, Jack didn't fire again.
He watched.
Measured.
The helicopter struggled upward, but not cleanly.
It drifted toward the wooded slope near the southern ridge.
Outside, Brian felt his stomach drop.
"Stabilize!" he barked into comms.
But rotor pitch changed — unstable.
The helicopter clipped treetops.
Branches exploded outward.
Metal screamed against wood.
It didn't crash fully — not yet — but it slammed hard into the tree line, skidding down the slope before coming to a violent stop against a cluster of rocks.
Smoke began pouring from the engine housing.
"Crew alive!" radio crackled. "But we're down!"
Chaos erupted across tactical channels.
"Fire risk!"
"Extraction team moving!"
"Medical inbound!"
Inside the cabin, Jack stepped back slowly from the doorway.
His breathing had deepened.
Faster now.
More animal than tactical.
"They forced it," he muttered.
Sarah felt the shift again.
The line had moved.
This was no longer a controlled perimeter.
This was an open confrontation.
Outside, Brian watched smoke rise from the wooded slope.
He didn't hesitate.
"Ridge team advance," he ordered.
"No more holding."
The ridge team broke cover in coordinated bursts, using tree trunks as shields as they moved forward.
Distance now forty yards.
Thirty-five.
Inside the cabin, Jack heard it.
Not rotor blades.
Not drone hum.
Footsteps.
Through leaves.
Subtle.
But there.
He moved immediately.
Tablet down.
Drone recalled.
He stepped toward the rear of the cabin.
Sarah's breath caught.
He was done defending.
He was repositioning.
"Jack," she said carefully.
He ignored her.
He grabbed Sarah by the arm, pulling her to her feet roughly.
Molly screamed through the tape.
"What about her?" Sarah demanded.
Jack didn't answer.
He shoved Sarah toward the open hatch.
Outside, the ridge team reached the outer tree line behind the cabin.
"Visual on structure!" one whispered.
"Rear hatch open!" another reported.
Brian's heart slammed.
"He's moving!"
Inside, Jack paused just long enough to grab the ignition device from the pack.
He moved toward the generator line along the side wall.
Outside, one tactical officer saw the movement through a gap in the siding.
"He's planting something!"
"Take the shot?" the sniper asked.
Brian hesitated.
Sarah was too close.
"Negative!"
Inside the cabin, Jack struck the ignition.
Sparks jumped.
The generator coughed violently.
Lights flickered once.
Then died.
Smoke began to curl along the interior wall.
Sarah's pulse pounded in her ears.
He wasn't detonating yet.
He was destabilizing.
Outside, Brian saw the first hint of smoke rising from the cabin roofline.
"Fire starting," someone reported.
"Advance faster!"
The Ridge team moved again.
Twenty yards.
Fifteen.
Inside, flames licked along dry timber near the generator housing.
Not explosive yet.
But spreading.
Jack grabbed Sarah and forced her down into the crawlspace hatch.
Molly thrashed on the floor, trying to scream past the tape.
"Brian!" she tried to yell through it.
Outside, boots pounded closer.
"Ten yards!" tactical shouted.
Smoke thickened.
Heat built.
The cabin was becoming unstable.
Jack dropped into the hatch with Sarah.
He didn't look back.
Above them, the fire began to take hold.
Outside, Brian broke from cover.
"Move! Move!"
The cabin windows cracked from the rising heat.
The door swung open from pressure.
Smoke poured outward.
But Jack was already gone.
And the structure was seconds from becoming something much worse.