Sergeant Rex Sikkim had buried four dogs in three weeks, and he meant to kill the thing that did it before a fifth name joined his list. He stood alone on the base at dawn with his written timeline in one hand. Fourteen years handling military dogs had taught him one truth: he was good at nothing else. His last dog, Bruno, died first. The fourth died in a way Rex still saw when he closed his eyes. He had sent his unit away over their protests. This hunt was his alone. A helicopter dropped low over the ruins. Raven Cruz climbed out before the skids touched down. She flew search missions, and her last crew came home without the men she went for. She did not shake his hand. "Your killer," she said. "Same one that's been eating recruits on the jungle roads. Silent. It hunts by sound." Commander Viktor Steele followed her. He led the Brothers of War, the faction Rex served. Seven of his recruits had vanished in transit. He set a receiver unit on the dirt, its blue camo panels scarred. "We traced the handler who jams our frequencies," Steele said. "We caught him. But the predator is still loose. It won't come unless something living draws it." Rex looked at the one dog he had left. A gray pitbull in a blue camo harness watched him from the truck bed, muscles tight. He would not stake the animal. He would not stake Cruz. That left one body. "Then it takes me," Rex said. Cruz's jaw tightened. "Bait dies first. That's the rule." "I know the rule." Rex strapped the camouflage guard tight on his right arm. "I offer the arm. Not the throat." They set the trap near the old subway arena, its walls wrapped in blue and black camo. Steele ran the receiver to track the dead handler's final frequency. Cruz took the roof with a rifle. Rex walked the open ground alone and made noise. He dragged a chain across concrete. He dropped a steel pipe. Sound, not sight. He called the thing to him the way he'd once called dogs to heel. It came without a sound. A low shape slid from the dark doorway. Rex turned his guarded arm out and let it strike. Teeth closed on blue camo. The weight nearly tore him off his feet. He locked his free hand around its neck and held. "Now," he shouted. Cruz fired once. The shape dropped, jaws still clamped on his arm. Rex pried the dead thing loose and fell to his knees. His arm was bruised to the bone but whole. Steele crouched over the carcass. "This is one of them," he said. "Not the only one. The tower sent a pack." Rex pressed his torn sleeve and stood. He had killed the thing that ate his dogs. But the hunt that would earn his unit's honor had only found its real enemy.