NIGHT HAWKS.WORLD
Some secrets are built to protect.
Others to control.
When Natalie Beaumont feels a three-beat pulse under the old gym floor, her quiet life in Fall City, Washington, changes forever. Beneath the town lies the Nest, a hidden command center linked to a network of tunnels, advanced technology, and a legacy buried for years.
Book 1
Natalie Beaumont · 12
She reads a basketball court like a map: every lane, every angle, every fake. So when a black SUV idles at the end of the driveway and the puddles start rippling in perfect rings, she notices.
“Defense is about seeing the play before it happens.”
Henry Beaumont · 9
Baseball player, tinkerer, and owner of a garage full of wires. His brain is always three pitches ahead. His problem is waiting for the one that belongs to him.
“Data doesn’t lie, Nat.”
Radar · age unknown
Scruffy. Bearded. Steals socks. Stares at the woods for no reason. Definitely just a regular dog. Probably.
Ask him about the pantry. He won’t tell you either.
Classified excerpt
Chapter 5 · The Night Runner
Radar, who had been asleep in a patch of moonlight near the door, twitched one ear.
Then Henry heard it.
A thin whine slipped through the half-open window, so high and sharp it seemed to scratch the inside of his ears. Not a mosquito. Not a bike chain. Not the refrigerator downstairs.
Something small with a motor.
Henry dropped the fidget spinner he had found on Natalie’s nightstand and moved to the window.
“Do you hear that?” he whispered.
“There.” Natalie pointed toward the garage eaves.
At first, Henry saw only branches and shadow. Then the shadow shifted.
A tiny black drone hovered beneath the roofline, no larger than a dragonfly. It stayed low, tucked under the tree line and away from the porch light. Four small rotors blurred around it, and a pinprick of blue light blinked beneath its body.
“That is definitely not from a toy store,” Henry whispered.
The drone slid closer to Natalie’s window.
Radar rose without barking. His wiry eyebrows lifted, and his ears angled forward. He stared at the glass with the intense stillness he usually saved for rabbits hiding under the deck.
“He knows it,” Henry said.
Natalie kept her voice low. “Or he doesn’t like it.”
“No. Look at him. That’s not squirrel face. That’s... waiting face.”
The drone tilted forward.
A tiny mechanical arm extended from its underside. Clamped at the end was a thin silver device, about the length of Henry’s thumb, with a slight curve at one end.
With a soft click, the drone released it through the gap in the window screen.
The object dropped onto the carpet without a sound.
Nobody moved.
Then Natalie scrambled off the bed and knelt on the floor. She swept her fingers over the carpet until she found it.
The device was cold enough to make her flinch.
Henry crouched beside her. “That is either the coolest flash drive ever made or the beginning of a terrible decision.”
“Probably both.”
Natalie held it under the desk lamp. Its surface looked smooth at first, but when she turned it, hair-thin lines shimmered beneath the metal like tiny streets on a map.
Henry leaned in. “There’s no port.”
Natalie brushed her thumb across one end.
The device warmed.
A pale blue light flared from its tip and unfolded into the air between them.
Henry fell backward onto the rug. “Okay. Not a flash drive.”
A hawk made of blue light hovered in Natalie’s room, wings spread wide, its body built from sharp geometric lines. It pulsed in the same three-beat rhythm. Then words appeared beneath it.
PATTERN ONE: PRIMARY NODE. THE LINE IS ACTIVE.
Henry stared. “That is a very dramatic way to say hello.”
The hawk pulsed again, and the device gave a faint tug in Natalie’s hand, turning toward the bedroom door like a compass needle.
Radar stepped into the hallway.
He looked back at them, gave one short yip, and trotted toward the stairs.
“He definitely knows where it wants us to go.”
Natalie stood and slipped into her track jacket. “Then we follow quietly.”
“That sentence is how people in movies end up in trouble.”
“We’re already in trouble.”
“Fair.”
Radar sat in front of the pantry door.
The device pulsed in Natalie’s palm.
Henry whispered, “Of course it’s the pantry.”
“What’s wrong with the pantry?”
“Nothing. I just always suspected the crackers were hiding something.”
She opened the pantry door.
The hinge creaked.
Both kids stopped.
Radar looked up at them with what Henry felt was obvious disappointment.
“Not helping,” Henry whispered to the dog.
Silence held.
Natalie slipped inside first. The pantry was cramped and smelled of dry pasta, spices, onions, and the faint earthy scent of the potato bag on the floor. She crouched and pushed the bag aside.
There, near the baseboard, was a seam in the wood.
Not a crack.
A seam.
Straight, deliberate, and much too clean.
“That was definitely not there yesterday,” Henry whispered.
“You inventory the pantry floor?”
“No. But apparently I should start.”
The device pulsed in Natalie’s palm, three quick beats.
A tiny blue light appeared near the seam, then vanished.
“Okay,” Henry whispered. “That feels like a hint.”
She pressed the device against the seam.
A red light blinked.
DENIED
“Or a very rude hint.”
Henry crouched beside her, staring at the device. “Wait.”
“What?”
“It keeps doing the same thing.”
The device pulsed again: three even beats, the same as before.
Henry’s eyes widened. “The driveway. The gym. My sensor.”
Natalie understood. “Three beats.”
“Maybe it doesn’t just want us to put it there.”
Natalie adjusted the angle and tapped the device lightly against the seam.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The device warmed in her hand.
Something clicked beneath the floor.
The pantry boards slid back with a soft mechanical hiss, revealing a narrow ladder descending into darkness.
Cold air rushed up from below.
Henry stared into the opening. “This is way better than batting practice.”
…continued in Night Hawks: The Hidden Nest
Initiate edition · Do not leave on the kitchen table
Every Night Hawk starts with the same gear. Here’s what you’d be issued. The full guide is in the back of the book.
Access key
A curved silver key about the length of your thumb. Hidden doors don’t answer a push. They answer a rhythm.
Henry: It also projects a giant glowing hawk. Nobody warns you about the hawk.
Orientation unit
Shows routes, hazards and what’s hidden inside walls. Fog, mirrors and old wiring can scramble it.
Sophie: It does not make you right. It makes your attention visible.
Prototype
The soles soak up every landing and give some of that energy back. Use them too hard and they go heavy.
Theo: Boots don’t make you fast. They make your choices louder.
Field comms
Alerts, pings and short-range voice. It does not tell time. It does not play games. It does not explain itself.
Henry: “Nest alerts outrank baseball.” I would like to file a complaint.
Transit unit 01-Beta
Travels by tunnel, road and water. No steering wheel. Comes with a padded rear compartment that is exactly dog-sized.
Theo: It has a cough. Sophie: It does not have a cough.
Status: classified
Not for initiates at this time
Henry: Yet.
Not to scale
Some things are closer than they look.
Coming next
The Snoqualmie Ridge node is awake. Inside it is a file no one was supposed to find, about a failed mission, a missing Night Hawk, and a dog who was sent to a new family to keep him safe.
Radar remembers.
Initiates, report in
Get a message when The Hidden Nest launches, plus early news about Book 2, bonus files, and new maps. Kids: ask a parent or guardian to sign up with you.