Inside, I see Clay and the other council members gathered. A row of five somber faces.
Mags starts the meeting, and I sit silently, waiting. Not at the table this time, but away. Hands balled in my lap, doing everything I can to deny there’s a bond at all—sever it.
But I still feel her soft warmth, still remember the way she kissed me back as if I wasn’t different. Or strange. Like I could behers.
My tongue presses to the roof of my mouth—an old trick to keep from reacting.
“Ash Merrick, please come before the council.”
I rise, heading to the front of the room and the podium, trying to ignore the consternation and judgment flying thick around the room. My hands ball at my sides.
“It has come to our attention that the Department of Homeland Security raided the Raven Ridge Museum today. The Reyes Ranch, too. A matter of national security. What can you tell us?”
Air escapes my throat like relief. I thought this conversation would be different.
I clear my throat, choosing my words carefully. “I was at home when agents showed up. Made myself available for questioning and assistance.”
“What kind of assistance?”
“Loading boxes. Redirecting attention. Keeping focus.”
Clay’s eyes narrow.
Mags’s lips turn up at the corners. “Very good.”
“And the artifact?” Clay asks.
“Still buried.”
The other council members nod, but Clay’s eyes narrow on me. “Any clue who triggered the raid?”
“Agents said it had to do with GPS coordinates recorded through an archaeoastronomy app. Something Reyes’s granddaughter was working on.”
“The project you’ve been monitoring?” Wilton cuts in, bushy gray eyebrows waggling.
“Yes.”
The room falls silent, eyes casting away, faces tightening. Like they’re all thinking the same thing but refuse to say it.
Until Mags cuts in. “And the anomalous readings we picked up this afternoon?” Her forehead knits, hope tinging her voice.
“Nothing.” It comes out flat.
She looks stunned for a moment, eyelashes fluttering.
Clay’s face remains guarded.
“You’re certain?” she asks.
“More than certain,” I grumble.
“Because it’s inconvenient? Dangerous?”
“Because it’s impossible,” I say, like a hammer driving a nail home in one swing.
“Enough,” Clay cuts in. “Back to the artifact. How will you ensure its safety moving forward?”
This is the part I don’t want to say but have to. It’s the only way. “Relocation. Gonna get a jump on winter. Head up pasture early. Remote, isolated. Won’t be anyone there. Not even DHS.”
