The trail revealed itself only when they were nearly on it, a narrow cut between two massive pines, rising sharply into darkness. Annie tightened her grip on the strap of the supply bag and followed Jack upward as the ground steepened and the forest closed around them.
Loose stone rolled underfoot. Roots grabbed at her borrowed shoes. More than once, her balance faltered, and each time Jack’s hand anchored her without hesitation.
Don’t look down.
Don’t think about falling.
Think about the next step.
Through breaks in the trees, she could still see the ranch below. Lights moved in coordinated arcs now, sweeping the barn, the house, the tree line.
“How many?” she breathed.
“At least four,” Jack murmured. “Maybe more. They’re running a search pattern.”
The first gunshot cracked through the valley.
Annie felt it in her bones.
Jack stopped, starting to turn back.
“No.” She caught his arm. “They knew what they were doing. They chose this. Don’t let it be for nothing.”
The words surprised her with their strength. Four years ago, fear had dictated everything. Tonight, something else was rising in her—a refusal to be ruled by it.
Jack looked at her, jaw rigid, conflict burning behind his eyes. Another shot echoed. Then silence.
“They’re not defenseless,” Annie said quietly. “And they’re not alone. They have God and home ground.”
After a long moment, he nodded once and turned back up the trail.
The climb seemed endless. Her lungs burned. Her legs shook. But eventually the slope softened, and the trees thinned.
The cabin appeared like a dark silhouette against the stars.
It was small, solid, built into the ridge like it belonged there. Stone. Timber. A single narrow approach.
Inside, the air smelled of old wood and dust. A lantern sat on the small table. Jack lit it, and its glow revealed two bunks, a stove, and narrow windows cut to overlook the mountain.
He immediately began checking angles, peering through glass, testing the door, mapping exits.
She saw his training in every movement. She also saw the strain beneath it.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, softer now. “For what this is costing your family.”
He turned to her. “Stop carrying what doesn’t belong to you.”
“What if it does?” she asked. “What if Eleanor felt this same weight before she died?”
The words shifted something between them.
Jack studied her, then nodded slowly. “She knew she was in danger. She documented it. That tells me she wasn’t just afraid. She was preparing.”
“For someone to finish what she started,” Annie said.
“And for someone powerful enough to make her disappear,” Jack added.
Annie moved to the small table and sat, her fingers brushing the locket through the fabric of her pocket. The object felt heavier up here, as though the mountain itself recognized its presence.
