The mountain night had gone from peaceful to predatory in under twenty minutes.
Outside the lounge, the forest had become a hunting ground.
Dark figures moved through the trees with silent precision, Leo's men fanning out in a carefully coordinated sweep. They wore dark clothing, moved without sound, and carried weapons that gleamed dully in the thin moonlight. Each one communicated through discreet earpieces, their voices low, clipped, professional.
The perimeter around the lounge had been transformed.
Guards now stood at every entrance, every path, every possible approach. They did not look like guards. They looked like guests smoking, staff taking breaks, drivers waiting by cars. But their eyes never stopped moving. Their hands never strayed far from concealed holsters.
The tree line was being methodically searched.
