"We know where some of them might be. But hitting those locations requires federal warrants and coordination with other agencies. Which means involving more people who might warn Graves."
I study the map. Several compounds in Alaska, more in Montana and Idaho. Remote locations perfect for trafficking operations. Places where screams don't carry and authorities don't look too closely.
Places where victims disappear and never resurface.
"How many people has he trafficked?" I ask.
"Impossible to say without full access to his records. But based on the financial flows and property capacity, dozens at minimum over the years."
The scale of it sits heavy. Not just Traci. Dozens of victims, all disappeared into Graves's network while he wore a federal badge and collected commendations for public service.
"We stop him," I say.
"We will." Cara's certainty matches Helena's. "But first we survive his assault. Then we build the case that brings federal attention he can't deflect. Then we stop him permanently."
It's a plan. Not a great plan, but it's what we have.
I leave Cara to her research and head toward the infirmary. Traci's sitting up in bed, notebook in her lap, writing something. Helena's in the corner, giving her space while staying close enough to provide support if needed.
Traci looks up when I enter. She studies my face with the assessment that comes from surviving hell and learning to read threats in every interaction. Looking for signs of danger, signs of safety, signs of anything that might tell her whether the people around her can be trusted.
Then she writes something, holds it up.
Are we going to be okay?
An honest question. It deserves an honest answer.
"They’ll attack again," I tell her. "Probably within days. They’ll bring more people, better equipment, and more resources than last time. But we're ready for them. This compound is defensible, the people here know what they're doing, and we're not letting them take you."
She writes again.
What if they win?
"They won't."
How do you know?
I could give her tactical reassurances. I could explain defensive positions and fields of fire and how preparation creates advantage. I could talk about training and experience and the mathematics of defensive warfare.
But she doesn't need tactics. She needs certainty.
"Because you survived his compound," I say. "You survived when all the odds were against you. You made it to people who'll fight for you. And now he's the one on uncertain ground, fighting to protect an empire that's about to collapse."
She considers that. Then she writes:
He's scared of me.
"He's terrified of you. Because you can destroy everything he built. One testimony, one name, one witness account that connects him to the trafficking network, and his whole operation falls apart."
A small smile crosses her face. The first genuine smile I've seen from her since she arrived.
Good.
"Good," I echo. "Now rest. The next few days could get interesting."
She nods, settles back into the bed. Helena walks me to the door.
"She's stronger than she looks," Helena says quietly.
