Page 25 of Tag
“He is,” I choked out.
“How can you be sure?”
“Because she left when I was thirteen. And I never knew why. I tried to convince myself that she died.” I pulled in a shaky breath. “She didn’t just leave me… she left to build this. She left me for money. It was that boyfriend she had.”
Tag’s voice was low and calm. “Then we find her. And we get answers.”
I shook my head, tears burning my throat. “This was never just about the missing girls. This whole time… it was about me.”
He cupped my face, forcing me to look at him. “No. This is about stopping the people who hurt them. And we’re not done.”
I nodded slowly, my hands gripping the front of his jacket like it was the only thing keeping me upright.
“Let’s go,” I whispered.
And for the first time in my life, I didn’t run from the truth.
I walked straight into it—Tag at my side.
20
Aponi
The rain hadn’t stopped.
It drizzled now, soft and cold, dripping from the roof of the rec center like the building itself was crying.
I sat in the upstairs room, wrapped in one of Tag’s hoodies, the scent of him grounding me more than I wanted to admit.
My hands were cold.
Tag sat across from me, cleaning his sidearm in practiced silence. He hadn’t pushed. He hadn’t asked for more. Just stayed nearby—quiet, solid, unshakable.
Exactly what I needed.
I didn’t know what to say.
What do you say when the woman who gave you life might be helping destroy others?
“I used to think she was magic,” I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper. She was half Indian. Her other half must have been crazy.
Tag looked up. He didn’t interrupt.
“She had this long, dark red braid and a laugh that filled a room. She’d sing while brushing my hair at night. Called me her Little Hawk.”
I swallowed hard.
“She was everything. Until she wasn’t.”
He set the gun aside. “What happened?”
I leaned back against the wall, eyes fixed on the rain outside. “One day she packed a bag. Said she had to go fix something. Said I’d understand when I was older.”
I let out a breath that felt like it’d been trapped for fifteen years. “She never came back.”
(Flashback – Aponi at Thirteen)
I remember standing at the screen door, barefoot, watching her old truck's dust trail fade down the gravel road. We lived in an old cabin out in the desert. But she was always heading to the city. She said she had work there.
