Chapter 12 #2
I have not seen Rhys alone since the arrests. All the chaos and federal takeover and we've been processing separately. Him dealing with the law enforcement side. Me handling the victim interviews. Two parallel tracks that haven't intersected.
Maybe that's for the best. Maybe we both need space to figure out what comes next.
Or maybe I'm just scared.
"Thanks, Zeke."
I head outside. The afternoon sun sits low over the mountains, painting everything in shades of gold and amber. The federal agents are still working inside, but out here it is quiet. Just wind and the distant sound of a truck engine.
My phone buzzes with three missed calls. All from Bureau numbers. The text message is from a number I don't recognize.
We'd like to discuss your return to the Bureau. Interested?
Return to the Bureau. Back to the structure and clearance levels and politics. Back to being Special Agent Kane instead of just Harlow.
I think about the last three days. The investigation. The interviews. The way it felt to coordinate victim services and build a case that actually helped people. This is what I loved before it became about quotas and closure rates.
But I don't want to go back to Virginia. Don't want to trade Alaska's brutal honesty for D.C.'s games. Don't want to work for people who classify information I helped gather.
I want to do this work. On my own terms.
Private investigator. Consultant. Someone who can work trafficking cases without the bureaucratic walls. Someone who partners with local law enforcement instead of taking over. Someone who chooses which cases matter.
Alaska feels right. This place with its harsh beauty and people who won't ask about your past as long as you show up when it counts.
And Rhys feels right too.
That thought should terrify me. I have known him for less than a month.
We have been through trauma and violence and grief together, which is not exactly a foundation for healthy relationships.
We have barely talked about what happens next because next felt too distant to matter when we were focused on surviving today.
But he is the reason I am still here. Because he saw me as competent and capable and trustworthy when I needed that reflection most. Because working beside him felt like partnership instead of hierarchy.
Because somewhere between the mining camp and the confrontation with Sergei, I started imagining a future that included him.
I delete the text without responding.
The next seventy-two hours blur together.
More interviews. More arrests. The network unraveling across four states as federal agents follow the threads Rhys and I helped expose.
Jason Merrick, the inside man at the mining operation, gets arrested in Seattle trying to board a flight to Mexico.
Financial records lead to shell companies and offshore accounts and a web of corruption that spans decades.
And Emma's case officially closes. Homicide-solved. Three years of Rhys's investigation validated in a single line on a federal report.
I am in the command center when Zeke tells me Emma's family is arriving. Her parents, coming to Whitewater for a memorial now that they finally have answers about what happened.
"Rhys asked me to let you know," Zeke says. "In case you wanted to be there."
"I don't know if I should."
"He wants you there."
The memorial is small. Just family and close friends at the cemetery on the edge of town. I stand at the back, not sure I belong among people who loved Emma.
The cemetery sits on a hillside overlooking the valley. Wind cuts through bare trees. Mountains rise in the distance, white peaks against pale blue sky. Beautiful in a stark way that feels appropriate for a woman who documented truth even when it cost everything.
Rhys stands at the grave. He looks thinner. Worn by exhaustion and emotion and the weight of finally having closure. He holds Emma's ring. The ring he's carried since she died.
Emma's mother speaks first. She thanks Rhys for never giving up. Her voice breaks talking about how much Emma loved him. How proud she would be.
His jaw tightens. He blinks hard against tears. His free hand clenches. The other holds that ring like a lifeline.
Then Emma's father steps forward. A tall man with weathered hands and a military bearing that speaks to decades of service. He looks at Rhys for a long moment before speaking.
"Emma would want you to be happy," he says.
Simple words that land with the weight of absolution.
"She'd want you to live. Not just survive, but actually live.
You've honored her memory. Now honor her wishes.
Find someone who makes you smile again. Build the life she wanted for you even if she can't be part of it. "
Rhys's shoulders shake. Just once. A tremor that speaks to years of grief finally finding release. He nods. Cannot seem to speak. Just stands there holding the ring while Emma's father pulls him into a hug that looks like it might break them both.
The wind picks up. Carries away words I cannot hear but can feel in the way they stand together. Two men bound by love for the same woman. One grieving a daughter. The other grieving a wife. Both giving each other permission to let go.
I turn away. This moment is theirs. Not mine.
But as I start to leave, I hear footsteps behind me.
"Harlow."
I turn. Rhys stands a few feet away, still holding the ring. His eyes are red but clear. Present in a way I have not seen before.
"Stay," he says. "Please."
My heart kicks hard against my ribs. "Rhys, this is for your family. I shouldn't—"
"You're part of this." He glances back toward Emma's family, who are watching us with expressions I can't read. "They want to meet you. Emma's mother asked specifically."
That stops me cold. "Why would she want to meet me?"
"Because I told her what you did. How you helped me finish what Emma started." He steps closer. "And because she knows."
"Knows what?"
"That I'm not the same man I was. That something changed." His voice drops. "That someone changed me."
The words hang between us. Heavy with meaning neither of us is ready to name out loud. Not here. Not now. Not with Emma's grave right there and her family watching and three years of grief still fresh in the space between us.
"I can't," I say. "Not yet. This is your closure. Your family. I'm just—"
"You're not just anything." His hand reaches out, almost touches my arm, then drops. "But I understand. We'll talk. Later. When this is done."
I nod. Turn away before the emotion building in my chest finds its way to my face. Before I say something neither of us is ready to hear.
Behind me, Rhys returns to Emma's family. I hear murmured voices. Soft goodbyes. The sound of footsteps on frozen ground as they prepare to leave.
I walk back toward town. The afternoon sun slants low through the trees. My phone buzzes in my pocket. Another message from the Bureau. Another offer to return.
I delete it without reading.
The command center is quieter when I return. Most agents have dispersed. Zeke stands near the coffee station with Nate. They both look up.
"You okay?" Zeke asks.
"Getting there."
Nate hands me coffee. "Reeves is looking for you. Needs your signature on statements."
I take the coffee. "Where is he?"
"Interrogation room two. But Harlow?" Zeke's expression goes serious. "You don't owe them anything. If they want more, they can ask nicely."
"They won't."
"No. They won't." He crosses his arms. "Which is why I'm reminding you that you're a civilian now. You get to say no."
I thank him and head toward the interrogation rooms. But before I reach them, I see Rhys through the window of the sheriff's station across the street. Standing at his desk. Even from here, I can see the tension in his shoulders.
He looks up. Our eyes meet through the glass.
Neither of us smiles. But his expression shifts—recognition that we survived this together. That what comes next, we'll figure out together too.
Then Reeves appears in my peripheral vision, holding a folder.
"Kane. Need you to sign off on these transcripts before we can file them."
I turn away from the window. Away from Rhys. Back to the business of closing cases and tying up loose ends.
My pen scratches across paper—signature, date, case number. All the official pieces falling into place.
Except one.
The Bureau's text message glows on my phone screen. A question I haven't answered. A future I haven't chosen.
I delete it without responding and hand Reeves his folder.
"We done here?" I ask.
"For now." He studies me. "You sure you don't want to reconsider? The Bureau could use someone with your skills."
"I'm sure."
He nods once and walks away.