I prefer hunting alone.
It keeps the world simple.
Track. Wind. Sound. Movement.
No politics in the forest.
No negotiations.
Just survival.
The snare line had been disturbed.
Not sprung.
Disturbed.
That's the difference.
A rabbit panics.
A person examines.
I crouched beside it.
The knot had been loosened deliberately.
Not enough to free the bait.
Enough to see if I would notice.
I didn't look around.
If someone was watching, I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of my eyes.
I adjusted the cord.
Reset it.
Waited.
The forest was quiet in the wrong way.
Birds still.
Wind light.
Air holding its breath.
I stood slowly.
Picked up the small game I'd already caught.
Turned toward the path back.
Three steps.
A sound behind me.
Not a branch snap.
A shift in weight.
Deliberate.
I stopped.
He wanted me to.
I didn't turn immediately.
Let him think he controlled the moment.
Then I looked.
He stood between two trees like he'd grown there.
Sleeveless coat the color of sun-burnt copper.
Arms bare.
Skin darkened by heat, not shadow.
Short hair.
Sharp moustache cut with precision.
A single gold earring catching light.
No weapon drawn.
That was intentional too.
"You reset it correctly," he said.
His voice wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
"I set it correctly the first time," I replied.
He smiled slightly.
Not warm.
Not mocking.
Measured.
"You noticed."
"Yes."
He stepped forward once.
Not threatening.
Just enough to test distance.
I didn't move.
He smelled faintly of sun and leather.
Like someone who spends more time under open sky than indoors.
"You're observant," he said.
"So are you."
A flicker in his eyes.
Approval.
I didn't like that.
He studied me the way men study architecture.
Looking for stress points.
"You've been watching us," I said.
Not a question.
"Yes."
Honesty without hesitation.
Interesting.
"For how long?"
"Long enough."
I let the silence stretch.
He expected discomfort.
I gave him stillness.
"And?" I asked.
"And you're the only one worth choosing."
There it was.
Not a threat.
A selection.
I felt the shape of it immediately.
If he ever un-chose me, he would choose someone else.
Roald is impulsive.
Wilkinson is visible.
No.
That would not happen.
"You assume I'll participate," I said.
"I don't assume," he replied. "I prepare."
Arrogant.
But not empty.
He wasn't posturing.
He believed that.
The wind shifted slightly between us.
He noticed.
So did I.
"You prefer open ground," he said casually.
"You prefer walls."
Another small smile.
We were speaking about more than terrain.
"I operate in the city," he continued. "You've crossed near its edges."
So that's the board.
"I hunt where I need to," I said.
"And I collect what is owed."
There it was.
The title without introduction.
The Debt Collector.
Dillaclor's administrative ghost.
I'd heard enough stories to know the name.
Up close, he looked less myth and more precision.
That was worse.
"You've made your observation," I said. "Now what?"
He studied me one last time.
Not my posture.
Not my weapon.
My reaction.
There wasn't one.
"Now," he said calmly, "we see how you adapt."
"To what?"
"To being chosen."
He stepped back first.
Interesting.
"Come to the city," he said. "Or don't. I'll adjust accordingly."
That wasn't a threat.
It was a statement of flexibility.
Which made it more dangerous.
He turned.
Didn't rush.
Didn't look back.
I watched him until the trees swallowed the copper of his coat.
He thinks he selected me.
Good.
If he keeps looking at me, he won't look at them.
I picked up the game I'd set aside.
The forest breathed again.
This just became more complicated.