Marlowe
We gathered what remained of the club's able fighters around a hastily spread map, King's finger stabbing down on the den's southern boundary with a certainty that told me he'd already worked out exactly what Vance was planning.
"Northern fence held," he said. "He'll know that by now. Second wave's not hitting the same weak point twice — he'll come for the southern approach instead, where the fence line's older and the terrain's harder to defend."
"The old maintenance road," I said, the layout of the property surfacing clear in my mind from months of supply runs and patrol routes. "Wrench mentioned once it's the weakest structural point on the whole perimeter — original fence, never reinforced like the rest."
King's eyes cut to me, sharp with sudden focus. "You're sure."
"Wren
