“Turn left up here,” Clover says quietly, breaking the silence. It’s the first thing she’s said since we left Peachvale. “The compound is about two miles down this road.” Her right leg bounces with nervous energy as she looks between the RVs satellite phone and the vast emptiness ahead.
I take the turn, my grip on the wheel making my fingers ache. The road narrows, becoming more grass than dirt with weeds growing up from the deep ruts of years-old tire tracks.
Trees close in on both sides, their autumn leaves creating a tunnel of gold and red that should be beautiful but feels suffocating instead.
“Are you ready for this?” I ask.
She’s got both hands wrapped around herself, hanging onto her elbows with white knuckles. “No, but I’m here because I can’t live in fear anymore. The danger, the?—”
“Clover.” My voice is harder than I intended. “You need to understand that this is not a negotiation. If I see any sign of danger, I’m taking you out of here. No arguments.”
Her body tightens into a fiery ball of anger. “You don’t get to decide that for me. This is my trauma. My past too. I’ve spent the last forty minutes wonderingwhy meandwhat next?Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to live in that victim mindset your entire life? I can’t do it anymore, Valen. Don’t you see? With you, I can do this. I can face it all. Don’t try to take this from me because I promise you won’t win.”
The words hit me like a slap. She feels stronger with me at her side. And if I’m being honest with myself, don’t I feel the same way with her?
Two broken pieces finally sealed together to create something whole, something strong, something resilient.
“You’re right. But promise me you’ll stay close, and if I say to run, you fucking run. Deal?”
She holds my gaze for a long moment, then nods.
In the back, Wrecks whines.
“I know, buddy,” Chief murmurs. “I don’t like it either.”
The trees thin as the RV bounces around a corner, and then, there it is—Roots of Salvation.
Or what’s left of it.
The compound sits in a clearing that must have been impressive once. Now it’s just…abandoned. Forgotten.
A main building dominates the center—three stories of crumbling stonework reach for the sky with dark windows, but most are broken. It stands tall, as though it’s the center of this universe, with an air of holier than thou.
Smaller cabins dot the perimeter as far as the eye can see, all in various states of decay, all a vast contradiction to the monstrosity at the center. There’s a garden plot to the right that’s completely overrun with weeds. To the left is a basketball court with no nets and cracks spiderwebbing across the concrete, and beyond it, a fire pit covered with old leaves.
But it’s the fence that gives this place an ominous sensation—ten feet of chain-link topped with barbed wire. The gates are open now, hanging crooked on broken hinges, but you can still see this place for what it was.
A prison.
What started as a safe haven took on a new meaning during my birth mother’s reign, or so I’ve been told.
“Jesus,” Chief chokes out. “This is where you lived?”
Clover doesn’t answer. She’s staring at the main building as though she’s seeing ghosts.
Pulling out my phone, I text Roman.
Me: We’re here.
Roman: Rip and I will head over now.
Roman: Place is clear.
Roman: Security footage has been quiet.
Me: Thanks. Hang back. Give Clover some space to acclimate.
Roman: Will do.
