He snorted at that, the sound halfway between amusement and resignation. "Fine. Southwest of Butte Creek. How far southwest?"
"About an hour's ride on horseback from town." I knew this from Dalton's visit, a story he'd told me years ago that I'd never imagined would be useful.
"So maybe an hour if we don't get lost."
"If we don't get lost," I agreed, hoping my memory served me well.
We stayed low to the treetops, following the highway, until we spotted signs welcoming us to Butte Creek. The town itself was small, maybe a dozen buildings clustered around a main street, all darkened for the night and buried under snow that made them look like they were being slowly swallowed by the earth. Smoke rose from several chimneys, but the streets were empty, no sign of life except those thin gray columns rising into the sky.
I pointed southwest, and we banked in that direction, leaving the lights behind. The darkness swallowed us again, broken only by moonlight on snow that made the world below look like an alien landscape, beautiful and hostile in equal measure.
"Who is this friend of yours again?" Rickon asked as he slowed his pace so we could scan the landscape, his wing beats becoming more deliberate.
"Admiral Cullen Blackwood," I said, watching the snowy landscape below for any sign of habitation. "My husband's commanding officer."
"A military man." Rickon's tone was neutral, but I could hear the question in it, the wariness.
"The best kind. He was the one person Dalton and I could always depend on. A man of integrity." I felt my throat tighten, remembering all the times Cullen had been there when I needed him most.
We flew in silence, the moonlight catching on Rickon's scales and making them shimmer like molten copper.
"I leaned on him a lot after Dalton died," I continued, the words coming easier now. "And when I first became president. He was one of the few people I could always count on to tell me the truth—whether I liked it or not."
"What's a man like that doing hiding away in the middle of nowhere?"
The question hit harder than Rickon probably intended. I swallowed against the tightness in my throat, feeling the familiar grief rise. "He's on leave. After the death of his daughter."
Rickon's wings faltered slightly, just for a heartbeat, and I felt him tense beneath me. If anyone could relate to what Cullen was going through, it was Rickon. "I'm sorry."
"His wife died of cancer a couple of years ago. Their daughter—Chloe—was all he had left." I could see her face in my mind, bright and determined, so much like her father, all fierce intelligence and unwavering conviction. "She was an FBI agent. Disappeared during an undercover assignment almost two years ago. They never found her body."
"Fuck," Rickon muttered, and the raw empathy in his voice made me adore him even more.
"Yeah."
We continued southwest, both of us watching for any sign of a house, a light, anything that broke the endless white expanse below us.
"I wish I could text him," I said after a while, imagining Cullen's reaction to our sudden arrival. "Let him know we're coming. Cullen's not exactly the surprise-visitor type. I have no idea what happened to my phone. Declan probably has it." The thought made me smile despite everything, a small vindictive pleasure warming my chest. "I hope he does. I hope Declan reads all the texts I sent my Chief of Staff about what a piece of shit I think he is."
Rickon's laugh was sharp and genuine, echoing across the empty sky and making me laugh too. "You didn't."
"Oh, I absolutely did." Of course, as smug as the thought made me, I worried about Edward. My Chief of Staff was loyal and, unless I missed my guess, would recognize that something wasoffabout Declan's version of me. I hoped he managed to stay safe.
We passed a farmhouse first, lights glowing warm in the windows like a painting of rural contentment, a barn and silo nearby standing dark against the snow. Too close to the road. Too ordinary. Too much like every other homestead we'd seen.
"Not it," I called.
Five minutes later, another structure appeared—a sprawling cabin with outbuildings and what looked like stables. Smoke curled from the chimney, and I could make out vehicles parked in a cleared drive, maybe four or five of them lined up neatly.
"Still not it."
Rickon said nothing, just kept flying, trusting my judgment even though I could feel his fatigue in the slight irregularity of his wing beats.
Then I saw it. Set back in a small valley, surrounded by hills and trees that formed a natural barrier, almost invisible except for the moonlight reflecting off a metal roof. A single cabin, modest in size, completely isolated. And behind it, rising like skeletal fingers against the night sky—a massive antenna array. Communications equipment. Satellite dishes. The kind of setup you'd need if you wanted to stay connected to the world while hiding from it.
"There," I said, my voice tight with relief so intense it made me dizzy. "That's it."
Rickon circled once, surveying the area, then angled toward a dense patch of forest about a hundred yards from thecabin. We descended through the trees, branches heavy with snow bending and snapping as we passed, showering us with powder. He landed smoothly and set me on my feet, my legs unsteady after hours of flying.
