"I don't know," I tell him honestly. "But there's a lot of open space to explore."
"That's cool." Adjusts his backpack, already moving toward the door. "Can we go now?"
Rachel catches my eye over his head. She knows this isn't an adventure. Knows exactly how serious the situation is. But she's maintaining the fiction for Lucas's sake, keeping his world as normal as possible while everything crumbles around them.
Watching her work reminds me viscerally of why I left. She's efficient and controlled, moving through the house with practiced ease. Grabbing only essentials without hesitation. No wasted motion. No visible panic. Just survival instincts refined by over a year of captivity and the years of careful rebuilding afterward.
She didn't need me then. Built an entire life without my help. Raised Lucas alone. Survived trauma that would have destroyed most people.
And now Kane sent me to disrupt that carefully constructed life, and I can't decide if I'm here to protect it or destroy it all over again.
We load the truck, grabbing and installing Lucas’s child safety seat in tense silence. Lucas climbs into the back seat with his backpack and that worn stuffed wolf tucked under his arm. Rachel takes the passenger seat, her duffel at her feet and her phone gripped tightly in one hand.
I pull out of the driveway, checking mirrors obsessively for surveillance and running multiple route options through my head. The Committee probably knows her address by now or is closing in. Probably has eyes on the house already. We need to move unpredictably, shake any potential tails before we reach the safe house location.
Tucson traffic is relatively light, mostly commuters heading into the city while we head out toward the desert. I take surface streets instead of the highway, double back twice to check for pursuit vehicles. Nothing obvious. No black SUVs maintaining distance. No vehicles appearing consistently in my mirrors.
But Kessler is too skilled to make surveillance obvious.
Lucas chatters in the back seat about school projects, his friends and whether the ranch might have a pool. Rachel responds when necessary, keeping her voice light and engaged despite the tension I can see in her shoulders.
My phone vibrates in the cup holder. Text from Kane:
Supplies delivered to location. Perimeter security established. You're cleared to approach.
Ranch property appears after we've been driving for a while, set back from the road behind a long gravel driveway that cuts through scrubby desert landscape. Single-story structurebuilt from adobe and weathered wood, probably decades old but clearly well-maintained. Several outbuildings scatter across the property—a barn, storage shed, old agricultural equipment that's been strategically positioned to provide defensive cover without looking overtly tactical.
Sarah's contact clearly knows what she's doing.
I pull up to the main house and kill the engine. Lucas is out of the truck before I can warn him to wait, already running toward the barn with his backpack bouncing against his shoulders.
"Lucas, hold on," Rachel calls, but he's already disappeared around the corner.
"He's safe," I tell her. "Kane's team swept the perimeter this morning. The property is secure."
That doesn't make her relax. She just climbs out of the truck and stands in the gravel drive, scanning the property with the same tactical assessment I'm running internally. Identifying escape routes. Evaluating sight lines. Cataloging vulnerabilities.
Silence stretches for a long moment as she watches Lucas explore the barn entrance. "He's going to ask about his school and his friends eventually. He’s going to want to know when we’re going back."
"I know."
"And I'm going to have to lie to a six-year-old child. Tell him this is temporary when it's actually permanent." Her voice cracks slightly. "Tell him we're coming back when we're never coming back to any of this."
I don't have adequate responses for that. Don't have words that make uprooting a child's entire existence seem acceptable or fair or anything except brutally necessary for survival.
"I'm sorry," I say instead.
"Don't." She turns to face me, and the anger in her eyes could cut steel. "Don't apologize for circumstances outside your control. Just help me keep him alive."
"I will."
Lucas reappears from the barn, waving enthusiastically for us to come see whatever he's discovered. Rachel heads toward him without another word, leaving me to unload supplies and begin securing the house.
Inside, the ranch is exactly what I expected from Sarah's contact. Functional furniture built for durability rather than aesthetics. Reinforced windows. Clear sight lines from every room to multiple approaches. A panic room built into what appears to be a storage closet, complete with steel-reinforced door hidden behind utility shelving.
Whoever set this up understood operational security.
I spend the next while checking every entry point methodically, testing locks, and installing the additional security measures Kane's team delivered. Motion sensors positioned around the full perimeter. Camera coverage for all approach vectors. A weapons cache concealed in the master bedroom closet.
