Alex stands across the street from the house that should be empty. The family isn't due until tomorrow. No one else should know about this location yet. But there's a car parked two blocks down with a clear view of the front door, and it's been there for twenty minutes. Alex crosses at an angle that keeps the parked car behind them. They approach the cabin from the side, where the woodpile and overgrown brush offer cover. The stone firepit sits ready in the clearing behind the porch, logs stacked, grate cleaned. Someone from the network prepared it yesterday. Everything looks exactly as it should. Alex moves to the back door and slips inside. The interior is undisturbed. Pantry stocked. Beds made. Water running clean from the tap. Alex checks the windows, the locks, the crawlspace entrance. Nothing has been forced. Nothing moved. They step back outside and circle the perimeter, scanning the treeline. That's when they see it. A white flag hangs from a low branch at the clearing's edge, tied with deliberate care. It wasn't there yesterday. Alex walks to it slowly, pulse steady but thoughts racing through the list of people who know this location. The flag flutters once in the breeze. Alex pulls it down, folds it, and takes out their phone. The family can't come here now. The network just lost another house.