Rebecca Macintosh waits at the secured entrance. The victim advocate who's been coordinating with Cara and the prosecutors. Professional, composed, someone who's alreadyhelped Traci navigate in the early stages and knows exactly what today will cost her.
"Traci." Rebecca's voice carries steady reassurance. "Ready for this?"
Traci nods. Grips her backpack tighter.
"Your uncle and Dr. Sage will be right outside the testimony room," Rebecca continues. "Federal marshals positioned in the hallway. Prosecutors are professional. They understand trauma testimony."
She's reducing unknowns, establishing control—what helps survivors feel less like victims being processed through a system.
We move inside. Federal building security runs us through scanners, verifies credentials. My sidearm stays locked in the vehicle per building protocols.
Wrong. Every instinct screams wrong. Unarmed in an unsecured building while Traci's vulnerable and Graves's network is still operational. A tactical nightmare dressed up as legal procedure.
Helena moves through security ahead of me. I track her collecting her belongings, the efficient movements, the silver threads in her dark hair catching light. Remembering how that hair felt wrapped around my fist. How she looked underneath me taking everything I gave her.
Focus on the mission.
The darkness under my skin doesn't care about priorities.
The testimony room is on an upper floor. A secure wing, limited access, cameras and recording equipment already set up. Several federal prosecutors wait inside. The prosecution team. All carrying files thick enough to represent months of investigation.
The lead prosecutor extends his hand. "Special Prosecutor James Whitmore. We appreciate Traci making the journey today."
They're professional. No grandstanding, no drama. Just lawyers who understand what they're asking this kid to do.
"How long?" I ask.
"A few hours for formal testimony. Then we'll need time to process the arrest warrant and coordinate with federal marshals for Graves's apprehension." Whitmore's expression stays neutral but I catch the edge underneath. An awareness that they're about to arrest one of their own. "We expect to have him in custody by end of day."
"And if he runs?"
"He won't get far. We've already flagged his credentials, frozen his accounts, and coordinated with airport security. The moment we execute the warrant, every law enforcement agency in Alaska will be looking for him."
Helena steps forward. "What does Traci need to know before going in?"
"Just tell the truth," Whitmore says, addressing Traci directly. "Describe what you saw and heard. We'll ask questions to clarify details, but this isn't cross-examination. You're not on trial. We're building the case against Graves, and your observations are critical to that case."
Traci's hand moves to her notebook. Whitmore notices.
"You can use your notebook during testimony," he says. "Whatever helps you communicate clearly. We've reviewed the written statements Cara Brennan provided. Today we're documenting everything formally for court proceedings."
Rebecca touches Traci's shoulder. "Ready?"
Traci looks at Helena, then at me. Searching for something. Permission maybe, or a confirmation that this is the right call.
"You've got this," I tell her. Simple and direct. The truth.
She takes a breath, nods, follows Rebecca into the testimony room.
The door closes. Helena and I are left in the hallway with federal marshals positioned at intervals. Waiting. The part of protection details that feels like wasted time even when it's necessary.
Helena leans against the wall beside me. Close. Too close. I can smell her shampoo, feel the warmth radiating off her body. Every nerve ending lights up with awareness. Want coiled tight in my gut.
She's doing it on purpose. Has to be. The way she angles toward me, the slight part of her lips when she breathes. Testing boundaries in the middle of a federal building while Traci gives testimony down the hall.
Wrong time. Wrong place.
Doesn't stop the image of her underneath me from flashing through my head. Doesn't stop my hands from remembering exactly how she felt.
