He nods. Understanding without needing explanation. "Rhys is at the station. Processing paperwork for Sergei's transfer to federal custody. Thought you should know."
I have not seen Rhys alone since the arrests. All the chaos and federal takeover and we've been processing separately. Him dealing with the law enforcement side. Me handling the victim interviews. Two parallel tracks that haven't intersected.
Maybe that's for the best. Maybe we both need space to figure out what comes next.
Or maybe I'm just scared.
"Thanks, Zeke."
I head outside. The afternoon sun sits low over the mountains, painting everything in shades of gold and amber. The federal agents are still working inside, but out here it is quiet. Just wind and the distant sound of a truck engine.
My phone buzzes with three missed calls. All from Bureau numbers. The text message is from a number I don't recognize.
We'd like to discuss your return to the Bureau. Interested?
Return to the Bureau. Back to the structure and clearance levels and politics. Back to being Special Agent Kane instead of just Harlow.
I think about the last three days. The investigation. The interviews. The way it felt to coordinate victim services and builda case that actually helped people. This is what I loved before it became about quotas and closure rates.
But I don't want to go back to Virginia. Don't want to trade Alaska's brutal honesty for D.C.'s games. Don't want to work for people who classify information I helped gather.
I want to do this work. On my own terms.
Private investigator. Consultant. Someone who can work trafficking cases without the bureaucratic walls. Someone who partners with local law enforcement instead of taking over. Someone who chooses which cases matter.
Alaska feels right. This place with its harsh beauty and people who won't ask about your past as long as you show up when it counts.
And Rhys feels right too.
That thought should terrify me. I have known him for less than a month. We have been through trauma and violence and grief together, which is not exactly a foundation for healthy relationships. We have barely talked about what happens next because next felt too distant to matter when we were focused on surviving today.
But he is the reason I am still here. Because he saw me as competent and capable and trustworthy when I needed that reflection most. Because working beside him felt like partnership instead of hierarchy. Because somewhere between the mining camp and the confrontation with Sergei, I started imagining a future that included him.
I delete the text without responding.
The next seventy-two hours blur together. More interviews. More arrests. The network unraveling across four states as federal agents follow the threads Rhys and I helped expose. Jason Merrick, the inside man at the mining operation, gets arrested in Seattle trying to board a flight to Mexico. Financialrecords lead to shell companies and offshore accounts and a web of corruption that spans decades.
And Emma's case officially closes. Homicide-solved. Three years of Rhys's investigation validated in a single line on a federal report.
I am in the command center when Zeke tells me Emma's family is arriving. Her parents, coming to Whitewater for a memorial now that they finally have answers about what happened.
"Rhys asked me to let you know," Zeke says. "In case you wanted to be there."
"I don't know if I should."
"He wants you there."
The memorial is small. Just family and close friends at the cemetery on the edge of town. I stand at the back, not sure I belong among people who loved Emma.
The cemetery sits on a hillside overlooking the valley. Wind cuts through bare trees. Mountains rise in the distance, white peaks against pale blue sky. Beautiful in a stark way that feels appropriate for a woman who documented truth even when it cost everything.
Rhys stands at the grave. He looks thinner. Worn by exhaustion and emotion and the weight of finally having closure. He holds Emma's ring. The ring he's carried since she died.
Emma's mother speaks first. She thanks Rhys for never giving up. Her voice breaks talking about how much Emma loved him. How proud she would be.
His jaw tightens. He blinks hard against tears. His free hand clenches. The other holds that ring like a lifeline.
Then Emma's father steps forward. A tall man with weathered hands and a military bearing that speaks to decades of service. He looks at Rhys for a long moment before speaking.
