"You're a civilian. You don't automatically think operational security. It's not your fault."
"People almost died because I was careless."
"People almost died because Haywood sent contractors to kill you. That's on him, not you." I take the phone from her hand. "But we need to ditch this now. I'll get you a burner for the victim contacts. Cara can set up encrypted communication. No more traceable calls."
She nods, still looking shaken.
I pull the battery out of her phone, pocket both pieces separately. "Finn will dispose of these. They can't track what's not powered on, but we're not taking chances."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. You're learning. That's what matters." I meet her eyes. "Operational security isn't instinct for most people. It's training. And you're doing better than most civilians would in this situation."
She takes a breath, steadies herself. "No more mistakes."
"No more unforced errors," I correct. "Mistakes will happen. We just minimize them."
Sela heads back inside. She just cut through all my guilt and professional conflict in under a minute.
She's right. We move forward.
I drink more coffee, let the caffeine start working. My brain feels clearer now, less tangled in what I should have done differently and more focused on what needs to happen next.
Minutes later, Finn appears from the main cabin, crossing the clearing toward us. We meet him halfway.
"Cara's ready," he says. "Found more files overnight. Wants you to see them."
We follow him back to the main cabin. It's bigger than the guest cabin but still modest with an open floor plan, kitchen, living area, and workspace. Windows are positioned for tactical advantage. Maps cover one wall. Radio equipment sits on a side table. This is a home built by people who understand threats.
Cara's at the kitchen table with her laptop, surrounded by coffee mugs and the kind of scattered focus that comes from working through the night. She looks up when we enter, her expression tight.
"You found something," I say.
"More than something." She turns the laptop toward us. "I finished decrypting Emma's files overnight. There's more than we thought."
Sela and I sit. The smell of coffee fills the space. My stomach reminds me I haven't eaten since yesterday afternoon, but whatever Cara's found has killed my appetite.
Cara starts the first audio file.
Emma's voice comes through the laptop speakers, calm and professional, recording information the way a nurse would document patient care.
"This is Emma Blackwater. Date is March seventh. Patient is female, twenty-two years old, presenting with multiple contusions, possible broken ribs, vaginal tearing consistent with sexual assault. Patient states she was trafficked from Seattle six months ago. Forced into prostitution. Attempted to escape twice. Both times, a federal agent threatened her with deportation if she went to law enforcement."
The recording continues. Emma asks gentle questions. The woman's voice is barely audible, broken by crying, but she tells her story. How she came to the US on a work visa. How the job turned out to be a lie. How they took her passport. How the federal agent showed up after her first escape attempt and told her she'd be deported as an illegal if she talked to police. Howshe believed him because he had a badge and credentials and spoke with authority.
Emma's voice stays steady throughout, professional and kind. But I can hear the controlled fury underneath. The determination to document every detail, every name, every threat.
My hands curl into fists on the table.
Cara pauses the recording. "Emma documented multiple victims over months. Every single one describes the same federal agent. Same threats. Same pattern."
She opens a photo file. The image shows a man in his fifties with graying hair, hard eyes, and FBI credentials visible on his belt. It's Lyle Haywood.
"Emma photographed him at a roadhouse outside Palmer," Cara says. "Meeting with Julian Montrose before he was killed."
I study the photo. It's clear, no question about identity. Emma built a case that any prosecutor could take to trial.
"Why didn't she tell Rhys?" Sela asks.
