Scout froze.
The beams swept across fences and bare branches, cutting through the dark like a blade.
A car turned onto the street—slow, controlled.
Then another set of headlights followed behind it.
He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just watched through the brush as both vehicles rolled into the driveway like they belonged there.
The first car eased into the garage.
The second followed.
Garage lights bloomed bright—then swallowed them whole.
The door started to lower.
Scout backed up fast, silent, controlled—retreating the way he’d come, keeping his body tight to the shadow line of the trees.
He climbed the rise again, boots finding the same slick roots and leaf-slick ground, forcing his breathing down until it didn’t fog in visible bursts.
He didn’t stop until he was deep enough in the woods that no one could spot him from the yard.
Only then did he drop to a knee.
Wait.
That was the job now.
He unzipped his pack with slow hands and pulled out the infrared binoculars again.
The garage door sealed shut.
The backyard went dark.
And Scout watched the house settle.
Monsters didn’t need darkness to hide.
They just needed neighbors.
Minutes dragged.
A downstairs light clicked off.
Another one followed.
A shadow crossed an upstairs window—tall, unhurried.
Then the bedroom light went out.
Scout checked his watch.
10:17 p.m.
He waited anyway.
Five minutes.
