The line goes dead.
I set the phone down, check the window again. Still clear. Still quiet.
Then the bedroom door opens. Sela stands in the doorway wearing Harlow's borrowed thermal shirt and jeans, the Glock in her hand held low but ready. Her eyes are alert, scanning the room before settling on me.
She's not panicked. Not frozen. She's awake and armed and assessing the situation.
"Couldn't sleep?" I ask.
"Heard you on the phone." She crosses to the table, sets the Glock down but keeps it within reach. She sits in the chair I vacated, looks at the dark laptop screen. "What did Cara find?"
No point lying. She needs to know what's coming for her.
"Photos of a corrupt FBI agent named Lyle Haywood meeting with Julian Montrose. The man who ran the trafficking network Emma was investigating. Multiple meetings over months. Emma documented transaction records, intercepted communications, timelines showing Haywood redirected federal task force operations to protect Montrose's network."
Sela absorbs this, her expression controlled but her hands gripping the edge of the table. "So this Haywood. He's the one who framed Cara?"
"Yeah. Testified against her in the Stormwatch investigation. Presented fabricated evidence that buried her career while he protected the trafficking network." I lean back in the chair. "Turns out he's been dirty for years. Emma knew Haywood was corrupt. She built a case against him."
"A case that got her killed."
"A case that could bring him down if we can protect it long enough to go public."
Sela looks at the laptop, then back at me. Her jaw tightens. I recognize that expression. I've seen it on soldiers who've just realized they're in deeper than they thought but aren't planning to back down. "What are we dealing with? Realistically."
I move to the chair across from her. Sit. Meet her eyes. She needs the whole truth, not some sanitized version meant to keep her calm.
"The man trying to kill you has a federal badge and the weight of the FBI behind him. He's got resources, authority, and the ability to make investigations disappear. He's already killed Emma, framed Cara for deaths she didn't cause, and protected a trafficking network that's moved victims across state lines for years." I lean forward, elbows on my knees. "You found evidence that could destroy him. He'll do whatever it takes to get it back and eliminate the witness who knows it exists."
"Meaning me."
"Meaning you."
She goes quiet. She sits there, hands on the table, breathing steady.
Outside, wind moves through the trees. The cabin creaks, settling into the cold. They're normal sounds. Nothing sets off my threat radar.
But it's coming.
"Then we make sure the evidence survives," she says finally. "Even if I don't."
My chest goes tight. Wrong answer. Wrong priority.
"You're going to survive." The words come out harder than I intend. More certain. "I didn't pull you out of that parking garage just to lose you here."
Her eyes find mine. Hold. Understanding passes between us. Acknowledgment that this isn't just professional anymore. That somewhere between the station and the truck and the cabin, it became personal.
She doesn't look away. Neither do I.
"You don't know me," she says quietly. "We just met. Why does it matter?"
"Because you went low when that shooter opened fire instead of freezing. Because you're sitting here asking what we're up against instead of falling apart. Because Emma died trying to stop these bastards and you're willing to finish what she started even though it might kill you." I hold her gaze. "That matters. You matter."
Her breath catches. Then she nods, once. She's made up her mind.
"Then we both survive," she says. "And we make sure Haywood pays for what he did to Emma."
"Deal."
