Jasmine's POV:
It started slowly. First, it was the quiet. The absence of Nicole's voice—no texts, no calls, nothing—had turned into something else. A palpable void that felt as sharp as a wound. She'd been there these past weeks, like a constant rhythm in my life, something I could rely on in the midst of everything. But now? Silence. And it wasn't like her. I could feel it, deep in my gut.
Something felt wrong.
I leaned against the kitchen counter, staring out the window at the sprawling fields that made up the perimeter of my land. My eyes, trained over the years to notice subtle shifts, caught the first sign: more vehicles passing by. Too many. Delivery trucks, pickups, and cars that didn't belong in this town were slowly appearing on the roads that skirted my property. I didn't recognize most of them, and when I did, they weren't moving with the usual sense of purpose a local might have. They were loitering.
Then came the drones. I had learned to spot the subtle hum of them high above, hidden among the clouds, far too high for anyone in the area to even think about using. No one around here had anything that could reach those heights. I didn't need to see them to know what they were.
I couldn't shake the suspicion gnawing at me. Something felt off. I trusted my instincts, honed through years of surviving in a world that wasn't kind to people like me. I wasn't the kind of person to be paranoid, but I couldn't ignore the way the pieces were lining up. The trucks on the roads. The drones above. Nicole's silence.
She knew something.
I pushed the thought aside, not willing to entertain it fully yet. But the longer she stayed quiet, the more certain I became. They were preparing something. I could feel it in my bones. Something was about to happen.
I turned and immediately began making my plans.
I moved through the house, checking every door, and every window, reinforcing every weak point. I needed to be prepared, but I wasn't about to run just yet. I needed more information.
I went to the storage closet, pulling out boxes of old gear—flashlights, fire-starting kits, food rations. I moved them to the kitchen, setting them out in plain sight. I wanted to make sure Sol was ready.
"Sol!" I called out, as I began pulling out a duffle bag. "Come here, kiddo."
He jogged into the room, wiping his hands on his jeans. "What's up?"
"We need to talk," I said, keeping my voice calm. "Things are going to get a little crazy around here. I'm going to teach you some new skills, okay? It's important."
He looked up at me, his curiosity piqued. "What kind of skills?"
"Traps. Detection. Counter-surveillance," I said, pulling open a drawer and retrieving a few small tools. "We need to stay ahead of whatever's coming."
Sol's brow furrowed as he glanced out the window. "You think they're still watching us?" he asked, his voice low.
"Maybe," I said, forcing a smile to reassure him. But my stomach churned. Sol had been quiet lately, and he noticed things before I did.
As I began laying out the tools and mapping out plans, my eyes kept flicking to the windows. They were out there. Watching.
My instincts told me to act, and I wasn't one to wait around. But I couldn't shake the feeling that it was too soon to make any rash moves. For now, I'd continue living my life as if everything was normal. If they thought they could lull me into complacency, they were wrong. I would let them make the first move.
I checked my guns and equipment, making sure everything was in place. I moved with precision as if preparing for the inevitable. My body was tense, my mind running through contingencies, working through scenarios where I might have to move fast—where I'd need to protect my family at all costs. I couldn't afford to ignore anything now.
My thoughts were interrupted by the sounds outside: low growls from my dogs, their restlessness growing as they paced around the yard. They knew something was wrong before I did, as they always did.
I grabbed my jacket and stepped outside. The day was bright, but the tension in the air felt thick and oppressive. My dogs—Thor, Tibetan Mastiff, Rex, Belgian Malinois, and Luna, German Shepherd—were fixated on something near the edge of the property, their ears flat against their skulls, tails stiff.
I followed their gaze, looking toward the dirt road that led to my farmhouse. The ground was disturbed. Prints where no vehicle should have passed.
I didn't waste any time.
I grabbed my crossbow and began setting up some basic counter-surveillance. The tools I had were rudimentary, but I didn't need anything fancy. I needed to see if they were getting too close. I'd already set up a few motion sensors in the past few weeks, and now, I needed to get a visual.
After a few hours of scanning the area and watching for any movements, I finally spotted something—a small, almost imperceptible shimmer in the distance. A drone.
I tracked it for a while before it disappeared beyond the treeline. But I wasn't stupid.
I grabbed a net from the barn and set a trap, then waited. The drone didn't take long to return. I tossed the net with quick precision, and the drone was caught. My heart pounded as I approached the tangled mess of wires and metal.
I knew they were watching.
I took the drone inside and hacked into it, accessing the files it had recorded. The images that flashed on the screen confirmed my worst fears—surveillance footage of my property, my family, Nicole, everything. The clear, unmistakable sign that they were watching my every move.
Nicole wasn't the only one they had under their thumb.
I couldn't tell her yet. Not until I knew how deep this went. If they thought I was going to just lay down and take it, they had another thing coming.
For now, I had to be smart, play along, and prepare for the worst.
But one thing was certain: I wasn't running—not yet. The pieces were falling into place, and I was going to make sure that when the storm hit, I would be ready.
The tension in the town was palpable.
The strange behavior continued, and I was no longer able to dismiss it as a coincidence. Local hunters and hikers who had never crossed onto my land suddenly did. Delivery trucks slowed when they reached my property—more than they should have, especially for a quiet farm in the middle of nowhere.
I made my way into town one morning, trying to keep things normal. But the usual calm had been replaced by a quiet undercurrent of suspicion. As I passed the diner, I overheard a conversation that made my spine stiffen.
"Did you see that truck the other day?" A man with a heavy drawl leaned toward his buddy, his voice low like he didn't want anyone to hear. "Slowed right down at the West place. Hell, I thought they were gonna stop."
His friend snorted. "You sure it was them? Ain't no reason to be poking around her place."
The first man leaned in closer. "I know, right? But it wasn't the first time. Weird, right? Like something's going on. I don't trust it."
I kept walking, trying to keep my face neutral, but I couldn't ignore the nagging feeling that this was just the tip of the iceberg.
As I entered the local hardware store, I caught sight of another familiar face. A local mechanic, one I hadn't seen in years, was chatting with Mr. Fennel, the owner. I pretended to browse the shelves, but their words carried to me.
"She's got that fancy security system now," the mechanic said, scratching the back of his neck. "Cameras, motion detectors, the works."
"Really?" Mr. Fennel replied, his tone too casual. "Never thought she'd need something like that. What's she worried about, you think?"
The mechanic gave a quick, almost nervous laugh. "I'm sure it's nothing. Just checking on the property. You know, just being thorough."
But there was something in the way he said it—too practiced, too careful.
I grabbed what I needed and paid quickly, barely glancing at either of them. The conversation left me cold, but I couldn't let it distract me. I still had to figure out who was watching me, and why.
Later that evening, as I walked back to the farmhouse, I passed a pair of teenagers lingering near the corner store. One of them, a local boy who looked too familiar for comfort, leaned against the wall as his friend stood nearby.
"You see the truck earlier? Out by the farm?" the boy asked, his voice half-laughing.
"Yeah," his friend answered, glancing around like they didn't want anyone overhearing. "They don't usually slow down out there unless they're lookin' for something."
The boy nodded slowly, his eyes darting toward the farmhouse in the distance. "Strange, huh? Something feels off about that place. Kinda makes you wonder what she's hiding."
I stiffened at the mention of my farm, but kept walking, pretending I hadn't heard a thing.
As I turned the corner, I spotted an old acquaintance—Cynthia, a woman who lived on the edge of town. Her eyes flicked to me as she approached, her voice low and almost conspiratorial.
"You need to keep your eyes open, Jasmine. People are talking." She glanced nervously over her shoulder. "Not sure why, but they're asking questions. You don't want to be caught off guard."
"Talking about what?" I asked, though I already knew.
She shook her head, offering a wry smile. "Just… don't be surprised if someone comes knocking. That's all I'm saying."
I tried to keep my composure, but my pulse quickened. There was no doubt about it now: something was happening. People in this town, people I'd known for years, were starting to look at me differently. And the more I heard, the more it confirmed what I had suspected all along.
I wasn't just being watched. They were waiting for something.