What would Emma want? The woman who became a nurse because she wanted to help people. Who documented a trafficking network not for glory but because it was the right thing to do. Who died protecting evidence that could save lives. She wouldn't want revenge. She'd want justice.
"On your stomach," I say. "Hands behind your back."
Sergei's smile fades. "You are making a mistake."
"Maybe. But it's my mistake to make."
I zip-tie his hands. The plastic bites into his wrists. He doesn't flinch. Stares at the floor while I read him his rights. Every word by the book because Emma deserves better than a vigilante execution. Because Harlow's watching and I won't be the man who chooses murder over law. Because I'm the sheriff. That has to count for more than my grief.
Harlow's already on the radio. "Zeke, we have Sergei in custody. Gunshot wound to the leg, needs medical attention. We'll need transport and evidence recovery at these coordinates."
"Copy," Zeke responds. Static crackles. "Twenty minutes out. Good work."
My hands won't stop shaking. The rifle slips from my grip, clatters on the floor. The sound echoes. I sink into a chair before my legs give out. The victory I imagined tastes like ash.
"You did the right thing," Harlow says quietly.
"Did I? He's right about the Marshal. About the network. Arresting one man doesn't stop this."
"No. But it's a start." She kneels beside me. "And you did it the right way. Emma's way."
"How do you know what Emma's way was?"
"Because you told me. At the cabin. About the woman who became a nurse to help people. Who documented evidence because it was right, not because it was safe." She takes my hand. Her fingers are warm against my cold skin. "That woman wouldn't want her husband to become a killer. She'd want him to be the man she married. The sheriff who believes in justice."
She's right. I hate that she's right. But the rage is still there. Still burning under my ribs like hot coals.
"It doesn't feel like enough."
"It never does. When my partner died, I wanted someone to blame. Someone to punish. But blame doesn't bring people back. It just eats you alive from the inside." She squeezes my hand. "You chose life over death. Justice over revenge. Emma would be proud."
I pull Emma's ring from my pocket. The metal is warm from my body heat. I've carried this weight since she died. Letting it define me. Control me.
"I need to let her go," I say. The words hurt. Feel like betrayal. But they're true.
"Not let go. Just carry her differently." Harlow looks at me. Direct. Honest. "She'll always be part of you. But she doesn't have to be all of you."
Before I can respond, engines approach. Zeke's SUV pulls up outside. Nate right behind him. They enter with medical gear and evidence bags. Arctic air rushes in with them.
Nate sets to work on Sergei. Zeke starts photographing the cabin. The flash pops bright in the dim room. Harlow helps him bag and tag files. Building an airtight case that even the Marshal can't corrupt.
We finish processing by dawn. Every file. Every photograph. Every piece of evidence Emma gathered and Sergei kept. All of it packed and ready for federal prosecutors who Chris Calder personally vetted.
The Marshal's protection only extends so far. Not to prosecutors with integrity. Not to evidence this damning.
We're coming for him next.
The cabin looms behind us as we walk out. The sun rises over the mountains. Dawn light spills across snow and trees.
Emma's ring is still in my pocket. But it feels lighter now. Less like a chain and more like a memory. Like a part of me I can carry without it consuming me.
Sergei's in custody. The network is exposed. The Marshal's days are numbered.
It's not revenge. It's better than revenge.
It's Emma's legacy. And mine.
I climb into the truck. Harlow slides in beside me. The heater kicks on, blasting warm air that smells like coffee and leather. She pulls out her phone, starts scrolling through the photographs of the documents we recovered.
