Chris Calder appears with Sierra. They drove down yesterday. Chris looks better than when I last saw him. Less weight on his shoulders. Sierra looks calm and content.
"Good party," Chris says.
We talk for a few minutes about wedding plans and work. Then Chris's expression changes.
"Got a minute?" he asks, nodding toward the hallway.
I glance at Harlow. She reads my face, gives a small nod.
I follow Chris down the hallway past the bathrooms. He opens a door to a small office that smells like old paper and furniture polish, then closes it behind us.
"What is it?" I ask.
"Federal office flagged communications last week." Chris leans against the desk. "Encrypted chatter on Volkov network frequencies."
My chest tightens. "Where?"
"Seattle. Portland. Anchorage." He pulls out his phone, shows me a map with three highlighted areas. "Different players. Sierra wouldn't recognize the patterns. But they're using the same playbook."
"Smaller operations?"
"Yeah. Less visible. More careful." He pockets the phone. "No leadership references. No names. But someone with serious resources is running the show."
"The Marshal."
"That's the working theory." Chris straightens. "Official briefing comes next week. You and Harlow are listed as primary consultants. Wanted you to know before it hits your desk."
I exhale slowly. "Lebedev's death was supposed to send a message."
"It did. Just not the one we wanted. They adapted." Chris pauses. "You and Harlow will handle it."
"Yeah."
We head back. Harlow spots me immediately, reads the tension in my shoulders. I give her a slight nod. Later.
Mayor Patterson approaches the makeshift podium someone set up near the buffet table. The crowd quiets gradually as people turn to face her. She's been running this town since before I pinned on the badge.
"Thank you all for coming," she says. "We're here to celebrate Sheriff Rhys Blackwater and Harlow Kane, who recently got engaged."
Applause ripples through the room. Someone whistles. I feel heat rise in my face.
"Rhys has served this community for a lot of years," Patterson continues. "When we lost Emma, a lot of us worried we'd lose him too. Not to death, but to the kind of grief that breaks a person beyond repair."
The room falls silent.
"But Rhys stayed. Kept serving. Kept living, even when it hurt." Her eyes find mine. "Then Harlow came to town. Someone who understood the work and the cost. Someone who could stand with him as an equal."
Harlow stiffens slightly beside me. She's never liked being the center of attention.
"Together they took down a trafficking operation that threatened our entire region. Brought justice for eight women. Brought closure for Emma's death." Patterson raises her glass. "To Rhys and Harlow."
"To Rhys and Harlow!" the crowd echoes.
The champagne is good. Someone made a special trip to Anchorage for it.
People approach afterward. Handshakes and stories about Emma, about me, about hopes for the future. Then I see Emma's parents working their way through the crowd.
My throat tightens.
