Page 34 of Shadow of Misty Mountain

A muscle ticks in his jaw, but he says nothing. He doesn’t make promises he isn’t sure he can keep. That, somehow, is more terrifying than if he had.

Still, I believe in him. In us. Whatever this is, whatever it’s becoming… and maybe that’s the scariest part of all.

We leave Misty Mountain tomorrow. We’ll make sure Carlton sees me. We’ll give him the opportunity to come in close, and then Travis will end it... end him. He hasn’t said how, but I’ve seen the look in his eyes when he talks about Carlton. There’s no room for negotiation.

Tonight, though, we pack. We review contingencies. Travis sketches maps and exit routes and backup plans on the back of a Pine & Petal napkin. I try not to think about what happens if things go sideways.

As we settle into bed, the weight of it all pressing down, I curl into his side and whisper, “What if this doesn’t work?”

Travis turns to me, eyes fierce. “Then I make sure he never touches you again.”

He kisses the top of my head, his arm tightening around me.

Tomorrow, we step into the fire, and if Carlton thinks he’s hunting the girl who ran, he’s about to learn I stopped running the second I found my brother’s truth—and the man willing to help me fight for it.

10

TRAVIS

Icircle the back lot behind the Hollow Tree Inn, boots crunching through the crusted snow, rifle strapped across my back and eyes sharp. It’s still early—before the town’s usual stir—but I like it that way. Gives me time to run my checks without being watched. Or interrupted.

One turn around the perimeter tells me what I already suspected: no new tracks, no sign of surveillance drones or thermal scans. No disturbed snow near the second fence line Hank and I installed back in October. Still, I don’t trust the quiet. Quiet is what predators use before they pounce.

I cut behind the woodshed, lift the false panel on the back wall, and reach for the stash box bolted into the beam. Inside: another Sig, two extra mags, a narrow satellite uplink tablet, and a strip of C4 I’d rather not have to use. Everything’s untouched. Still, I check each round like someone who doesn’t believe in luck. Only preparation.

Across the lot, the rusted-over woodpile near the chicken coops is another cover. I step into the shadow it casts and crouch low, lifting the base plank. My fingers close around the matte black receiver of a short-barreled rifle. Still here. Still loaded. Exactly where I left it. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that backupplans should have backup plans. Because when the first bullet flies, everything you thought you knew goes to hell.

I slide the weapon back into its foam recess and replace the cover, then rise to my full height and scan the skyline. No movement. Not yet.

A door creaks behind me. Hank’s standing in the open frame of the inn, arms folded, face unreadable except for the way his mouth tightens at the corners. He’s got a thermal hoodie stretched over his broad shoulders, his jeans tucked into snow-caked boots, and his stance says we’re not just chatting for old time’s sake.

“You doing rounds again?” he asks.

“I never stopped.”

His eyes flick toward the ridge behind the church. “You expecting company?”

“I’m expecting a mistake.”

Hank nods like he understands more than he lets on. He jerks his chin toward the side entrance, then disappears back inside. I follow him through the hall that smells like baked cinnamon and gun oil, down to the rear office most guests don’t know exists.

He pours two fingers of scotch, doesn’t ask if I want it, just slides the glass across the desk like it’s habit.

“You want backup?” he asks without looking up.

I shake my head once. “This one’s ours.”

He leans back in the cracked leather chair, fingers drumming against the arm. “Didn’t peg you for taking on a cause again.”

“It’s not a cause,” I say. “It’s a promise.”

“And her?” he asks, quiet now. “She’s just the mission?”

I drain the scotch and meet his eyes dead on. “She was. Not anymore.”

Hank exhales slowly through his nose, like that tells him everything he needs to know.

“She’s got your six?”

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