I want a future. With her.
She turns and sees me. Her expression shifts. Surprise, then something warmer. She says something to the men, who nod and head toward one of the temporary structures. Then she walks to the fence.
"Sheriff," she says.
"Harlow."
"Consulting job. The company wants a complete security overhaul after what happened. They asked if I would help redesign the system." She gestures toward the compound. "Turns out my FBI experience is useful for more than just patrolling empty buildings at two in the morning."
"You're good at this."
"I forgot how good it felt. Using skills that matter. Making places safer." She crosses her arms. The gesture is defensive, like she expects me to tell her not to take the job. "It's contract work. Six months to implement the new system. After that, who knows."
"After that, you could build a consulting business. Plenty of mining operations in Alaska need better security."
Her eyes search my face. "You think I should stay?"
"I think you should do what makes you happy. But yeah, I hope you stay."
The words hang between us. Too honest. Too vulnerable. But I've spent years lying to myself about what I wanted, and I'm done with that.
"Come back to the cabin with me," I say. "We need to talk. Really talk. Not in stolen moments between firefights and federal investigations. Just you and me figuring out what comes next."
She hesitates. The vulnerability in her expression mirrors mine. Then she nods. "Let me tell the team I am taking the rest of the day off."
The drive to the cabin is quiet. Not uncomfortable, but weighted with awareness that we're approaching a decision point. She sits beside me in the passenger seat, fingers drumming once against her thigh. A nervous tell I've learned to recognize.
"What are you thinking?" I ask.
"That I haven't let myself imagine a future in two years. That I came to Alaska to hide and you made me want something more." She looks at me. "That terrifies me."
"It terrifies me too."
"You loved Emma. I can't compete with that."
The statement hits wrong. "This isn't a competition. Emma was my wife. I loved her. Part of me always will. But she's gone." My hands tighten on the steering wheel. "And I was dead inside for years because I thought that was what honoring her memory looked like. You showed me it doesn't have to be that way."
"What does it look like?"
"Living. Actually living instead of just going through motions. Emma would hate what I became after she died. The beard, the obsession, the way I let grief consume everything good that was left." The cabin appears through the trees ahead. "She would like you. Would appreciate someone who doesn't let me wallow in self-pity."
Harlow laughs. Soft but genuine. "I have my own wallowing problems. Baker died because I made the wrong call. Two years of hiding in Alaska proves that."
"You made a tactical decision in a dynamic situation. The review board cleared you."
"Review boards aren't the same as forgiveness. I still wake up hearing him say it wasn't my fault. Still see the light leave his eyes." She looks out the window at snow-covered trees. "But working this case with you, being back in the field, it remindedme why I joined the FBI in the first place. To help people. To make a difference. I lost that after Baker died."
I park the truck behind the cabin. Kill the engine. In the silence that follows, wind whispers through spruce branches and snow slides off the roof in wet chunks.
"What do you want, Harlow? Not what you think you should want. What do you actually want?"
She turns to face me. "I want to stay in Alaska. Build a consulting business. Work with law enforcement on trafficking cases without the Bureau bureaucracy." A pause. "I want mornings in this cabin. I want arguments about who's cooking dinner. I want the ordinary boring beautiful life I stopped letting myself imagine."
My heart pounds. "With me?"
"With you." Her voice is steady. Certain. "If that's what you want."
"I've been dead inside for years. You brought me back to life."
