Too damn late to do anything about it.
I white-knuckle the steering wheel, watching the thin ribbon of road narrow, stomach-churning drops on both sides. One wrong move, one misplaced tire, and the families will never know what happened to Phoenix and the rest of his team.
I brake, drawing in a stilted breath. The San Juan Mountains rise in the distance, rugged and majestic. Red-tinted with a dusting of powder from last season.
Forested slopes plunge away on either side of the narrowing trail, beautiful enough to kill you.
Wildflowers dot the hills, punctuating the crusty, salmon-pink remnants of mostly melted glaciers. Cold air curdles like fog beneath the icy protrusions—foreboding, impassable.
No one comes up here for fun.
I shake my head, my entire body trembling. But I can’t go back, even though forward holds no guarantees.
God.
I may need to be helicoptered out of here later. But the only way out now is through.
I stare at my Jeep GPS device, using my fingers to blow up the screen. A straight line magnifies into a tangled vine of switchbacks.
Of course.
Nothing about this investigation has been easy. Why should anything change now?
I finger the cross around my neck. Phoenix gave it to me years ago. A cheap Christmas gift: sterling silver. Without constant polish it corrodes—black and dull.
Now it feels less like jewelry and more like a wound I keep touching. A tangible reminder of the brother I lost… and the answers I crave.
By the time I finally park, adrenaline has been vibrating beneath my skin for nearly two straight hours. I stare at an overgrown one-room cabin that looks like it could magically disappear into the woods if my gaze leaves it for too long.
My chest squeezes. My mouth goes dry… so dry it feels like my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth.
I open the water next to me, hands visibly shaking, and force myself to drink. Even my lips tremble, water spilling in small droplets down the front of my black tank top.
Fortunately, it doesn’t show. Doesn’t matter anyway. What I’m here for has nothing to do with me or how I look.
“For Phoenix.”
I check my phone for a signal, suddenly overcome with the desperate need to call my parents, tell them I’m here. Maybe even send them a photo of the place.
No signal. Roaming.
I check the sat phone in my purse just in case, charged and ready.
I call. No answer.
Instead, I text a quick message, finger hovering over the screen at the end. Not:wish me luck.Not:pray for me.
Nope.
Phoenix would want this.
Four words that feel like a lie.
Still, I have to know. My family deserves it. The other families deserve it. I can’t rest until every gap in the timeline is filled.
But some part of me still expects the truth to feel disloyal.
Walking up to the door takes more courage than I thought it would. My knees feel weak, body still quaking from the high-elevation road trip. Every inch toward this cabin feels like stepping deeper into the day my life split in half.
