The storm passed.
But nothing changed.
Jack didn't move them.
He reinforced.
By morning, the lake had receded just enough to leave debris tangled along the shoreline, but the cabin stood intact.
And so did he.
Inside, the lantern burned low.
Jack moved through the cabin with new precision.
He wasn't pacing anymore.
He was preparing.
He stepped outside briefly once the rain slowed, boots sinking slightly into the mud near the dock.
He walked the perimeter of the property slowly.
Checking.
Watching.
Then he reached into a weatherproof case mounted under the cabin's eaves.
He powered on a small camera system.
Four external units are mounted discreetly in the tree line.
Infrared enabled.
Motion detection is active.
He moved toward the back clearing.
A second case.
Inside: a compact drone.
He unfolded it carefully, powered it up, and sent it rising above the treeline.
The small machine hummed as it ascended, camera scanning outward in widening arcs.
He watched the live feed on a tablet in his hand.
No boats.
No visible personnel.
No heat signatures near the shoreline.
Good.
He brought it down and set it aside.
He would fly it every few hours.
No one would approach unseen.
He returned inside.
Sarah watched him closely.
He felt different.
Not explosive.
Focused.
Calculated.
"You think they'll rush in?" he said quietly.
She didn't answer.
"They won't."
He glanced at Molly.
"She means too much to him."
Molly's eyes burned with hatred above the tape still binding her mouth.
He had removed it to allow water, but replaced it after she tried to speak again.
Control was everything now.
Across the lake, Brian stood over a large printed topographic map spread across the hood of an unmarked SUV.
Colored markers circled elevation lines, tree density, and shoreline gradients.
"We can't use direct water insertion," Tactical said. "He'll see it."
"Air's compromised too," another officer added. "Drone risk."
Brian stared at the contour lines.
"What about the ridge approach?" he asked.
"North side slope is steep," tactical replied. "But there's a drainage path here."
He pointed.
Brian leaned closer.
"If we move through that low ground—"
"We'd be concealed by tree density."
"But it's slow," someone warned.
"Slow is fine," Brian muttered.
Slow meant alive.
The Chief stepped in beside him.
"Davis has surveillance experience. Assume he's watching."
"He is," Brian said.
"How do you know?"
"Because that's what I'd do."
Silence settled heavily.
"Then we map every possible blind spot," the Chief ordered.
For the next several hours, teams analyzed:
Wind direction patterns
Tree canopy coverage
Natural depressions in the terrain
Sound travels across water
Drone range and battery limits
Brian absorbed every detail, but his mind kept drifting.
How long could two restrained women survive in that cabin?
Food supply unknown.
Water limited.
Power out.
Storm damage is possible.
He called Jack again that afternoon.
No answer.
He called again at dusk.
Voicemail.
He tried Molly's phone.
Still transmitting location.
No movement.
His chest tightened painfully.
"Call him again," the Chief said quietly.
Brian did.
This time, Jack answered.
"You're persistent."
"I need proof they're alive."
A pause.
Footsteps.
Then Sarah's voice.
Faint but steady.
"I'm here."
Relief nearly buckled his knees.
"And Molly?"
A muffled sound.
Then, tape tearing.
"Still alive," Molly said sharply.
Tape returned.
Jack came back on.
"You don't get daily check-ins."
"You don't get freedom," Brian replied evenly.
Silence.
"Days pass," Jack said quietly. "People get tired."
Then he hung up.
Inside the cabin, the air had grown stale.
Sarah's wrists were raw.
Molly's cheek was bruised.
Jack rotated between silence and verbal needling.
"You thought you were clever," he told Molly at one point. "Following me."
She didn't respond.
"You almost ruined everything."
Sarah stepped in carefully.
"You already ruined it."
He stared at her for a long moment.
Then smiled faintly.
"Not yet."
He flew the drone again at sunset.
Higher this time.
Scanning ridge lines.
The drone feed showed nothing obvious.
But something about the treeline made him uneasy.
He couldn't see everything.
And not seeing everything made him tense.
Back at the department, Brian slammed his palm lightly against the map.
"This is dragging."
The tactical commander didn't argue.
"Yes."
"If we wait too long—"
"He stabilizes."
"That's not better," Brian snapped.
The Chief placed a steady hand on his shoulder.
"You can't rush this."
"I can't sit here."
"You can," the Chief said firmly. "Because if you don't, you get them killed."
Brian closed his eyes briefly.
Days.
It had been days.
Every hour stretched.
Every phone call felt like a lifeline.
Every silence felt like a grave.
He hadn't slept properly.
Hadn't eaten much.
His mind replayed Molly's last clear words.
We're together.
Together was good.
Together meant Sarah wasn't alone.
But together also meant—
Jack had double leverage.
Night fell again.
Inside the cabin, Jack sat across from the girls in lantern light.
"You hear that?" he asked.
Wind moved gently through the trees.
No storm now.
Just quiet.
"That's what isolation sounds like."
Molly stared back at him.
"You think he's giving up?"
She didn't blink.
"He's mapping," Jack murmured. "Trying to be clever."
Sarah's pulse skipped.
He knows.
Not what.
But enough.
Jack leaned back in his chair.
"If he comes through the trees, I'll hear it."
He tapped the tablet beside him.
"If he comes by water, I'll see it."
He looked between them.
"And if I suspect anything…"
He didn't finish.
He didn't have to.
Back at the ridge, Brian stood alone, looking across the dark lake.
No lights.
No movement.
Just shadow.
"Still there?" the Chief asked quietly.
"Yes."
"Still alive?"
"For now."
Brian exhaled slowly.
"How long do we stretch this?"
The Chief didn't answer immediately.
"As long as it takes."
Brian nodded.
But frustration simmered beneath his calm.
Every day increased risk.
Every hour, tightened nerves.
Every call tested Jack's patience.
And patience—
On both sides—
Was thinning.
The siege lines had been drawn.
And neither side was moving.
Yet.