"Harlow said to take time to think it through. That gives them opportunity to review your evidence and prepare a protection plan. Gives you time to get your affairs in order." Zeke pauses. "But Cara, the feds won't wait. If they show up first, you lose the option of surrendering on your terms."
"I know." She sets down the coffee mug, untouched. "I'll think about it."
Zeke nods and doesn't push. "Fair enough. In the meantime, we'll set up security around Finn's cabin. Watch rotations, supply support, communication backup. If anyone comes looking for you before you make a decision, we'll know about it."
"You don't have to do this," Cara says quietly.
"Yeah, we do." Sadie's voice is matter-of-fact. "This is what community means. Protecting people who need it, standingagainst corruption, making sure nobody fights alone. You're here asking for help. We're giving it."
The question in Cara's eyes when she looks at me is clear. Whether this is real, whether these people actually mean what they're saying, whether trusting them is survivable. I nod once, confirming what she's already starting to believe.
"Okay. Thank you. For the help. For not asking me to justify why I deserve it."
"Everyone deserves help when they're fighting for justice," Zeke says simply.
We leave through the back door, Zeke and Sadie walking us to the truck. Wind has picked up, carrying snow in horizontal sheets that sting against exposed skin. Sadie hands Cara a burner phone with pre-programmed numbers.
"Secure line," she says. "Use it if anything changes. If the feds show up, if the timeline compresses, if you need extraction fast."
Cara tucks the phone into her jacket. "Appreciate it."
Zeke claps me on the shoulder. "You know what you're getting into?"
"Yeah." I glance at Cara standing a few feet away, giving me space to have this conversation. "I know."
"She's worth it?"
"Yeah. She is."
"Then we've got your back. Both of you." He steps back, hands in pockets against the cold. "Be smart, Finn. Keep your head clear and your priorities straight."
"Always do."
The drive back to the cabin is quiet. Cara stares out the window at darkness and snow, processing everything that just happened. I give her space to think, focusing on navigation and watching for tails even though I don't expect anyone to be following us yet.
At the cabin, I park but don't immediately get out. Just sit there with the heater running, her profile lit by the dashboard lights.
"You okay?" I ask.
"No. But I'm better than I was this morning." She turns to look at me. "Better than I've been in years, honestly."
"Because?"
"Because I'm not alone anymore. Because people I just met are willing to risk themselves to help me. Because you're volunteering your cabin as a safe house when you could just point me toward the highway and wish me luck."
"Not going to do that."
"I know." She reaches across the console, fingers finding mine. "That's what scares me. Not the feds or the danger or even the possibility that this all goes wrong. What scares me is how much I want to trust that staying is the right choice."
I bring her hand to my lips, press a kiss to her knuckles. "Then trust it. Trust me. Trust that we're going to figure this out."
She leans across the console and kisses me, soft and searching. When she pulls back, there's something fragile in her expression. Hope, maybe. Or the beginning of belief that fighting doesn't have to mean fighting alone.
Inside, we go through the routine of securing the cabin. Checking windows, testing locks, establishing sight lines for watch rotations. Cara moves through the space with professional efficiency, and I follow her lead, learning how she thinks about defensive positioning.
"Tomorrow we'll set up a perimeter," she says, standing at the window looking out into darkness. "Motion sensors if we can get them. Clear paths for evacuation routes. Communication schedules with Zeke so someone always knows our status."
"Tomorrow," I agree. "Tonight we rest. Actually rest, not just collapse from exhaustion."
