3
HELENA
I'm reorganizing the medication cabinet when my mind keeps circling back to Eli Vance.
Years alone in the wilderness. Marshal Miller mentioned he's former military, medically discharged, that he's been completely withdrawn from society. Whatever broke him badly enough to make him disappear into the backcountry doesn't just heal because a traumatized teenager needs him to function.
And now he's responsible for Traci. A girl who needs stability, consistency, someone who can handle the weight of her recovery without breaking under it. Even after time in protective custody she's still operating like a prisoner.
I watched how he positioned himself during the exam earlier. Close enough for Traci to see him, far enough to give me working room. Every movement deliberate, controlled, making himself into a fixed point she could orient around. The placement was tactical but the intent was protective.
He's trying. Whether his best is good enough remains to be seen.
I close the cabinet and move to the desk, updating patient files from this morning's appointments. Mrs. Bailey's bloodpressure is finally stabilizing. Liam's chainsaw wound is showing no signs of infection. The work continues regardless of what else is happening in town. Mountains visible through the window, dark against the gray sky.
My phone buzzes. Text from Zeke:
Eli and Traci settled at the cabin. I'm bringing Rhys in to consult. Heading your way. Need to debrief.
I respond:
Come to the back entrance. I'll have coffee ready.
Soon, Zeke and Rhys walk through my back door. I've known Zeke long enough to read the tension in his shoulders, and Rhys carries the same controlled alertness I've seen in law enforcement who work the worst cases. This isn't a social call.
"Coffee's fresh," I say, gesturing to the pot. "Help yourselves."
Rhys pours two mugs, hands one to Zeke, leans against the counter. "How'd the exam go?"
"Physically, she's healing well. Psychologically, she's exactly what you'd expect from someone who survived months of captivity. She's shut down, hypervigilant, not speaking." I pull out Traci's file, show them the notes I'm allowed to share. "I told Eli to call me if anything seems wrong. He needs to watch for flashbacks, panic attacks, signs of self-harm ideation."
"You trust him to recognize those signs?" Zeke asks.
"I trust him to call me if something seems wrong. Beyond that?" I close the file. "He's carrying his own damage. Years of isolation tells me he broke in ways that made functioning aroundpeople impossible. But he showed up for his niece. That counts for something."
Rhys sets down his mug. "Talked to him for a few minutes at the clinic while you were finishing up."
"And?"
"Zeke knew him more than I did back when. Delta Force. You can see it in how he moves, how he assesses a room. I've worked with enough operatives to recognize the type." Rhys's expression turns thoughtful. "But there's something else there. Control that's costing him effort. Like he's holding himself together through sheer force of will."
"Which is exactly what worries me," I say. "Traci needs stability. If Eli's barely stable himself, what happens when the weight gets too heavy?"
"Then we step in," Zeke says simply. "That's why we're coordinating. If Vance can't handle it, we have backup plans."
"What's the actual threat?" I ask. "Miller said the network's still operational."
Zeke sets down his mug. "That's why I brought Rhys in. He's been working this trafficking case in Whitewater Junction. The routes run through multiple jurisdictions including Glacier Hollow. And he's got direct connections to the federal task force."
Rhys pulls out his phone, shows me what looks like case file documentation—a map with routes marked across Alaska. "If the network thinks Traci can identify anyone, she's a target. I've seen how they operate in the cases I'm working."
"This is bigger than we initially thought," Zeke says. "Federal task force is working it, but they're a long way from dismantling the infrastructure. In the meantime, anyone connected to the Seattle operation is vulnerable."
"How vulnerable?"
"Witnesses have disappeared," Rhys says bluntly. "People who were going to testify, who had information that could damage the network. Gone. Federal protection didn't help them."
The words settle cold in my chest. "You think they'll come here?"
