Nothing.
No sign of the Charger. No engines. No taillights. Just the long, narrow ribbon of blacktop stretching out in either direction and the orange sun bleeding colors onto the horizon behind the mesa.
Lark joined him, arms crossed tight, tension radiating off her. "I don't like this," she said.
"Neither do I. To loop around like that and cut us off? That's not road rage."
"They knew where we were. Knew the route back to The Refuge."
Kawan mentally retracing their path, calculating the exact moment that Charger had picked them up.
"I didn’t notice anyone else in that grocery store, but that car was hard to miss," he said finally. "I doubt that call from Lorre was convenient timing."
Lark narrowed her eyes at the bend in the road. "So, either we've got a tracker—or someone's leaking real-time movement."
"Or both." The hairs on the back of his neck stood up straight.
Lark glanced down at her cell. "Not to be overly paranoid, but I wasn't on that call long enough for Lorre to trace it, but this cell came from a collection of burners he provided."
Kawan snagged it, dropped it to the ground, and stomped on it. "No point in taking chances." He holstered his weapon and scanned the SUV for damage. Scrapes and a busted fender. Drivable. "Let's get the hell out of here."
They climbed back in. He turned the key—engine coughed once, then caught. He pulled a slow U-turn and headed toward The Refuge.
"I've done a million ops for Lorre, and while he's always been a thorn in my side, I can't believe he'd betray this country,” Lark said.
"You'd be surprised what some people will do if backed into a corner. Or for the right amount of money."
"Not everyone is an asshole willing to turn their backs on what is right." She glared.
He cracked a grin. "Everyone has a price, including you. Only, your price isn't monetary. It's personal."
"Maybe. But I wouldn't do it willingly, and I'd be looking for a way out. I'd also be trusting people like me."
He pressed his foot on the gas. However, he’d be keeping a watchful eye on the rearview for the rest of the drive. As the gate came into view, a new kind of tension settled over him.
The war they thought they left behind had followed them home.
And they were running out of road.
The wood beneath Lark’s bare feet was warm from the day’s sun, a heat that had nothing to do with comfort and everything to do with friction. That’s what this place was—beautiful on the surface, abrasive underneath. Like standing in the eye of a storm and pretending the silence was safe.
But no place was ever truly safe. A utopia like that would have no need for her. She nearly shivered at the thought.
“You had a frightening morning,” Henley said as she rocked gently back and forth in the wicker chair. “Are you sure you don’t want to go for a walk? That might help you relax.”
“I’m fine here.” Lark shrugged as she leaned against the porch railing of her cabin, arms crossed, watching the horizon paint the distant hills with color. The sun dipped lower, throwing long shadows across the high desert landscape. The smell of juniper and pine carried on the dry, dust-laden wind. She stared at Jupiter’s cabin. Kawan leaned against the railing, arms hanging loosely at his sides, as if the day hadn’t beaten them up already. Jupiter stood only a foot away, in the same stance.
“Do you want to talk about what happened earlier?”
“That was a cake walk compared to most days,” Lark said.
“I suppose it was. However, you’re piling one adverse event on top of another. That doesn’t help anxiety.”
“I’m not anxious. I’m dialed in. Besides, I told you,” Lark said, without turning. “Therapy’s never really been my thing. Tried it when I was younger, and it didn’t do anything for me.”
“I’ve honestly never loved the wordtherapy,” Henley said. “You’re simply having a conversation and taking care of yourself. And everyone needs to be heard. To be supported. We all face tragedy. Experience heartache. And sometimes, simply navigating everyday life can be a challenge. The human condition isn’t unique to anyone. However, itiscomplicated.”
Lark glanced sideways. Henley, dressed in jeans and a loose linen shirt, her hair up in a knot, and eyes steady, was too damn perceptive. “I honestly appreciate what you do. The patience, kindness, and empathy that must be required—I applaud that. And I know it’s necessary. I’ve seen the benefits. I’m just not one to emotionally bleed.”
