Page 61 of Ghost of Talon Mountain
Another silence. When she speaks again, her voice shakes. "If this is some kind of sick joke?—"
"It's not. Listen to me. Remember the summer before I enlisted? We drove out to the coast, just the two of us. You made me stop at every tourist trap between here and there. We got matching temporary tattoos at that boardwalk place—yours was a dolphin, mine was an anchor. You kept yours for two weeks even though it looked terrible."
Her breath catches audibly. "Chris?" The word comes out broken. "Oh my God. Oh my God, is it really—where have youbeen? We looked for you. I looked for you. Three weeks we searched?—"
"I know. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." The words feel inadequate for the pain I caused. "I'll explain everything. But right now I need you to know I'm alive and I'm okay. And I'm coming home."
She's crying now, I can hear it through the line. "When? Where are you?"
I look around the destroyed command room, at the smoke and blood and evidence of violence. At Sierra standing beside me, battered and beautiful and fierce.
"Talon Mountain. I'll be in Glacier Hollow by tonight."
"I'm leaving right now. Don't—" Her voice breaks. "Don't you dare disappear again."
"I won't. I promise."
She's still crying when I end the call. I pocket the phone, and my hands are shaking.
Sierra leans against me, her weight familiar and right. "How do you feel?"
"Terrified."
"Good. That means you care."
The sirens are right outside now. Car doors slam. Voices shout orders. Heavy boots crunch through snow.
Barrett's voice carries through the building: "Federal agents! Show yourselves!"
"Upstairs!" I call back. "Two friendly, one hostile secured!"
Footsteps pound up the stairs. Barrett appears in the doorway, weapon drawn, tactical vest marked with Wildlife Protection Division patches. Behind him, at least six more agents, all armed and ready.
He takes in the scene—the bodies, the destruction, Healy unconscious and zip-tied on the floor. His eyes land on me, andhis expression shifts from tactical assessment to something like shock.
"Calder?" He shakes his head as if he still can’t believe it. "You're actually alive."
"Yeah." I meet his eyes. "Long story. How much did Sierra tell you?"
"Enough to know you've been operating off-grid for eleven months and just handed us the biggest corruption case in decades." He holsters his weapon, steps forward. His voice drops lower. "Your sister is going to lose her mind."
"Already called her. She's on her way."
Barrett's team secures the scene—checking bodies, collecting evidence, treating Healy's injuries enough to transport him. The whole place swarms with federal agents within minutes, transforming from a battlefield into a crime scene.
Sierra and I give preliminary statements. We'll have to do formal debriefs later, full interrogations, probably congressional hearings. The corruption network we just exposed reaches too high, touches too many agencies, for this to end quietly.
But that's tomorrow's problem.
Right now, I watch Sierra work with Barrett's tech team, walking them through the data upload, explaining the linguistic analysis that cracked the network's communications. She's brilliant and fierce and absolutely in her element.
And she's mine. Or I'm hers. However that works.
Medics check our injuries—Sierra's shoulder needs stitches, my ribs are cracked from Healy's knee strike, we both have cuts and bruises that'll take weeks to heal. They want to airlift us to Anchorage for proper treatment.
"No," I say. "I go to Glacier Hollow first. My sister's meeting me there."
The medic argues. I don't budge. Eventually Barrett overrules her—he knows family reunions trump medical protocols.
