"You're not alone. You’ve got this whole community in your corner." The words are automatic, repeated so often they've become reflex. But they're true. This is what we do here. We show up. We help. We make sure no one falls through the cracks.
Raymond nods, but the exhaustion doesn't leave his eyes. "I keep thinking about what happens when I can't do this anymore. When she needs more care than I can give her here. There aren't facilities equipped for this kind of thing within two hundred miles."
"We'll figure it out when the time comes," I say, knowing the promise is easier to make than keep. Although Glacier Hollow takes care of its own, there are limits to what a small community can provide. "You're not there yet. And when you are, you won't be facing it alone."
He manages a tired smile. "Thanks, Finn. For everything. For always coming when she needs you."
It's why helping Cara expose whoever's using this place as cover for trafficking matters. Raymond and Judith deserve better than being unwitting accessories to the kind of operation that got Tom killed.
Driving home as dusk settles over the valley, I watch the light fade. My cabin sits two miles outside town. I built it myself over one long summer, using salvaged materials and sheer stubbornness to create something functional. One bedroom, main living area with a wood stove, kitchen barely big enough for one person. Exactly what I need.
Building a fire, I watch flames catch and spread through kindling. Heat fills the space, pushing back the cold that seeps through a few gaps in the insulation I'll patch before real winter arrives. Coffee brews while I clear the table, making room for whatever evidence Cara brings tonight.
She's been running alone since Stormwatch destroyed her career. Building a case no one believed, trusting no one, surviving on skills that should have made her an asset to the FBI but instead made her a target.
Tonight she gets what she hasn't had in three years: someone who believes her. Someone with resources to help. Someone who knows these mountains and routes well enough to turn her evidence into action.
Snow begins to fall outside, fat flakes drifting past the window. The roads will be treacherous by morning. Winter locks down the backcountry fast in Alaska, turns routine supply runsinto survival challenges. Cara picked a hell of a time to conduct an investigation in terrain she doesn't know.
I check my watch. I’ve still got time until I pick her up—time to decide exactly how much of Zeke's offer to share with her, how far I'm willing to go, whether I trust her enough to reveal that the task force knows who she is and wants to help.
The decision should be simple. Zeke's offering resources, backup, a way to turn Cara's evidence into action that could actually dismantle the trafficking network. Information she needs to stay alive and finish what Tom started.
But telling her means revealing that the local sheriff knows who she is. That Zeke's been monitoring the anonymous tips she's been sending to Whitewater Junction. That he showed up today asking me to work with her because they've been watching her movements and suspect she's the source of their best intel.
Three years of running alone has taught her not to trust anyone, especially not people in law enforcement. Even people claiming they want to help. She's survived this long by staying invisible, staying off everyone's radar, never letting anyone get close enough to betray her.
Now I'm asking her to trust that the sheriff who's been tracking her movements actually believes she's innocent. To believe that we won't use her evidence to build a case against her instead of the traffickers she's hunting.
From her perspective, that's a hell of a lot to ask.
But keeping Zeke's involvement secret feels like another kind of betrayal. She's bringing everything she has tonight because she trusts me. Because I looked at her evidence and believed her story when no one else did. Starting this partnership with lies about who else knows she's here seems like a terrible foundation.
I need to think this through properly. A few minutes later, the machine gurgles, finishing its cycle. I pour a cup and settleinto the chair by the window, watching snow accumulate on the ground. Somewhere out there, traffickers are using my routes, my community, the trust people like Raymond and Judith place in outsiders. Using isolation and good intentions as cover for operations that got Tom killed.
When I lost my career and thought I'd lost my purpose. Turned out I was wrong. Purpose isn't about the uniform you wear or the missions you fly. It's about the people you protect and the stands you take when it matters.
Cara's been taking that stand alone for three years, with everything stacked against her. Tonight she's trusting me with evidence that could vindicate her or get her killed. She doesn't belong in Glacier Hollow any more than I belong behind a desk. But she's here, hunting the same network that murdered a good agent and framed her for crimes she didn't commit.
The question is whether she'll accept help when it comes from someone she just met, or if survival instincts honed by years of running will make her bolt the moment she realizes she's not as alone as she thought.
5
CARA
The encrypted message arrives at six forty-three in the evening.
I'm organizing files on my laptop when the notification icon blinks in the corner of the screen. Three rapid pulses, the pattern I coded years ago for my secure contacts. My fingers still on the keyboard, and cold floods through my chest despite the warmth of the lodge room.
Jake Donnelly is the only person who uses this channel anymore. My former partner at the Bureau, the only one who believed me when the evidence started piling up against me. He stayed behind when I ran, kept his head down, maintained his spotless record while quietly monitoring the systems for anything connected to my case. If the Bureau ever discovered he was still in contact with me, his career would be over and he'd face criminal charges. He doesn't risk reaching out unless it's critical.
I click through the decryption sequence, entering passwords from memory, watching layers of security peel away until the message appears in plain text. Nine words that make my stomach drop.
Tom's files accessed. DOJ office. Washington. Two hours ago.
I read it again, hoping the words will change, knowing they won't. An official inside the Department of Justice pulled Tom's case files. Not his official reports about trafficking patterns, but his actual investigative files. The ones that should be buried so deep in classified archives that accessing them triggers immediate alerts.
The ones I've been so careful never to reference directly in any of my anonymous tips.
