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“My grandmother’s protection,” Kari said simply.She didn’t have a better explanation—not one that would make sense in an FBI report, anyway.

“Well,” Daniels said after a moment, “looks like your grandmother knew something the Bureau doesn’t.”

It was more of an acknowledgment than Kari had expected to get from him—recognition that some realities resisted standard profiles and procedural manuals.That some dangers came from places the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit had never mapped.

Redford walked between them, head bowed, occasionally murmuring to herself in a language Kari didn’t recognize.Whatever had possessed her—psychosis, delusion, or something the old stories named more directly—seemed dormant for now.But Kari kept the medicine pouch close, unwilling to dismiss Redford’s warning.

It’s still here.Waiting.

Behind them, the sacred site stood silent under moonlight, the hand-shaped rock formation reaching toward stars that had witnessed countless ceremonies across millennia.Waiting, perhaps, for the next boundary to thin.The next crossing to be attempted.

Kari slipped the medicine pouch back into her pocket, feeling its weight against her side like a promise.A reminder that some protections came not from badges or service weapons, but from older, deeper knowledge that refused to be forgotten.

Knowledge her grandmother had tried to share all along.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

Two days after Redford’s arrest, the tribal police station had finally returned to something resembling normal operations.The incident boards were cleared, the extra personnel reassigned, the press conferences concluded.Only the paperwork remained—the endless documentation that transformed chaos and violence into the ordered language of case files and court proceedings.

Kari sat at her desk, finalizing her report on the Redford case.Outside, rain fell in gentle sheets, unusual for the season but welcome after weeks of drought.The sound created a soothing backdrop to the routine activity of the station—phones ringing, keyboards clicking, the occasional burst of conversation.

Daniels appeared in her doorway, knocking lightly on the frame.He’d abandoned his formal FBI attire for a more casual look—jeans, buttoned shirt, sleeves rolled to expose forearms marked with fresh bandages from Redford’s attack.

“Got a minute?”he asked.

Kari gestured to the chair across from her desk.“Finishing the paperwork.But I could use a break.”

Daniels settled into the chair with a wince that suggested he was feeling the aftermath of their confrontation with Redford more acutely than he wanted to admit.“Just got word from the federal prosecutor.Redford’s attorney has already indicated they’ll pursue an insanity defense.”

“Not surprising,” Kari said, leaning back in her chair.“Her psychiatric evaluations will support it.She genuinely believes she was transforming into a Skinwalker.”

“And the murders were attempts to cure herself.”Daniels shook his head.“It’s almost elegant in its twisted logic.Each killing at a sacred site, each victim someone who had violated traditional boundaries in some way.”

“Harrington photographing sacred formations, Delgado investigating mining encroachments, Mitchell conducting unauthorized excavations,” Kari said.“And Jared Wilson would have been next—a vandal planning to desecrate sacred sites with graffiti.”

“A pattern we missed,” Daniels admitted, the acknowledgment clearly difficult for him.“OrImissed, focusing too much on established profiles.”

“Careful, Paul.That sounded dangerously close to an apology.”

Daniels grunted.“Yeah, well, enjoy it while you can.”He stretched, yawning.“I’m heading back to Quantico tomorrow.The Bureau is reassessing our approach to cases involving indigenous cultural elements.Your insights have been… illuminating.”

Kari recognized the professional respect being offered.“The tribal police appreciate the Bureau’s cooperation,” she replied formally.

A smile flickered across Daniels’s face.“Your father would be proud, you know.Of how you handled this case.”

The mention of her father caught Kari off guard.“Have you spoken with him?”

“He called me yesterday,” Daniels said.“Wanted to know how you were doing.Said you weren’t returning his calls.”

Kari sighed.“It’s complicated.”

Yesterday, her father had texted to say that the offer to have dinner—the two of them and Linda—was still on the table.She’d replied by saying that she needed a little more time and space after the chaos of the investigation.After so recently losing her mother, the idea of spending time with the woman her father had chosen to replace Anna felt… disrespectful.

“Family usually is.”Daniels stood, clearly sensing her reluctance to discuss the matter further.“For what it’s worth, I think you’ve found where you belong, Kari.You see things others miss.ThingsImissed.”

Kari nodded her acknowledgment, knowing they had reached a new understanding that transcended their personal history.

After he left, Kari returned to her report, adding final notes on the investigation’s conclusion.The Livingston angle had proven interesting, though ultimately unrelated to the murders.Arizona State Police had executed a search warrant on his storage unit and home, discovering not only the missing ceremonial items Redford hadn’t taken—the bowls, the feather fans, the baskets—but dozens of other artifacts stolen from the museum as well.

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