Chapter 5
Sarah
The mountain road twisted like a snake in the dark, each hairpin turn forcing me to slow down and grip the wheel tighter.
My headlights carved narrow tunnels through the blackness, illuminating nothing but asphalt and the occasional reflective eyes of some nocturnal creature watching from the tree line.
Kael sat in the passenger seat, too large for the space.
His knees were nearly touching the dashboard even with the seat pushed all the way back, and his shoulder was so close to my head that every time he shifted, I felt the movement.
The car suddenly felt impossibly small—a tin can hurtling through darkness with barely enough room for the two of us and the weight of everything unsaid between us.
He'd been quiet for the last twenty minutes, staring out the window at the darkness rushing past. I was acutely aware of his breathing—slow, controlled, the rise and fall of his chest visible in my peripheral vision.
The silence felt heavier than it should have, pressing down on us like the altitude.
"Where are we going?" he asked finally.
"My uncle Rufus's cabin." I navigated another sharp curve, my stomach lurching slightly. The wheel was slick under my palms. "High in the mountains above Gatlinburg. Way off the main roads. No neighbors for miles."
"Sounds isolated."
"That's the point."
More silence. The engine hummed. The tires whispered against asphalt. Somewhere far below us, I heard the distant rush of a mountain stream. The altitude was making my ears pop, and I swallowed hard, trying to clear them.
"Sarah." His voice was careful, measured, but there was something underneath it—something that made my hands tighten on the wheel. "Will you get in trouble for this?"
I was surprised by the question. "No. Not if we can get the charges dropped. Not if we can prove Dawson was railroading you, that he was planning to—"
"That's not what I asked."
I glanced at him. His amber eyes caught the dashboard light, glowing faintly in the darkness. They were fixed on me with an intensity that made my breath catch.
"What if we can't prove it?" he pressed. His hands were clenched in his lap now, knuckles prominent even in the dim light. "What if something goes wrong? What if Atkins doesn't release that report, or Dawson gets to him first, or—"
"Then we'll figure something else out."
"Sarah." He said my name like a warning and plea mixed together. "What if we can't?"
The road straightened out for a brief stretch, and I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. My hands ached from gripping the wheel so hard, my knuckles bone-white in the dashboard glow.
"Then yes," I said quietly. The words felt like stones in my mouth. "Yes, I could get in big trouble."
"How big?"
"Disbarred." The word tasted like ash. "My law license revoked. Everything I've worked for since I was eighteen years old. Gone."
The silence that followed was suffocating. I felt it pressing against my eardrums, thick and heavy as the darkness outside. Even the engine seemed to quiet, as if the car itself was holding its breath.
"Pull over," Kael said.
"What?"
"Pull over." His voice was firm now, decided, and there was something raw in it that made my chest tighten. "Right now. Let me out."
"Kael—"
"I mean it, Sarah. Pull over and let me out.
" His jaw was working, muscles jumping beneath green skin.
"I'll disappear into the mountains. Orcs are good at that—we can live off the land, stay hidden.
You go back to Franklin, tell Dawson I overpowered you, forced you to drive me, then escaped. You'll be—"
"No."
"You could lose everything." There was something desperate in his voice now, almost pleading, and his hands had moved from his lap to grip the edge of his seat. "Your career. Your reputation. Everything you've built. I'm not—"
"Not your decision."
"Like hell it isn't—"
"I said no." The words exploded from me, louder this time, sharper, and something hot and fierce was rising in my chest like a wave. "I'm not pulling over. I'm not letting you out. And I'm sure as hell not going back to Dawson with some stupid story about you overpowering me."
"Sarah, you don't understand—"
"I understand perfectly." My voice cracked slightly, and I had to swallow hard before continuing. My hands were trembling now, shaking against the wheel. "I understand what I'm risking. I understand what I could lose. And I'm doing it anyway."
"Why?" The word was almost a whisper, broken and confused. "Why would you throw everything away for—"
"My dad used to tell me something when I was a kid," I said, cutting him off. My voice was hoarse now, thick with emotion I couldn't quite name. "He'd say, 'Sarah-bear, most things in life are negotiable. But some things—some things are worth fighting for, even if you lose.'"
The road curved again, sharp and sudden, and I had to focus on navigating the turn. My hands were still shaking. I gripped the wheel harder, trying to steady them, but the trembling wouldn't stop.
"This is one of those things," I said, and my voice was gaining strength now, hardening with determination. "What Dawson is doing—it's wrong. It's evil. And if I let him get away with it, then what the hell am I even doing this job for?"
"Sarah—"
"And this isn't just about you." The words were tumbling out faster now, more passionate, and I felt my control slipping—not in a bad way, but in a way that felt like finally letting go of something I'd been holding too tight for too long.
"This is about every Orc in this county.
Every Orc who's been harassed, every Orc who's been treated like a monster just for existing. "
My hands were still shaking, but differently now—not from fear, but from the intensity of what I was feeling. I forced myself to breathe, to focus on the road ahead, but the words kept coming.
"If we let Dawson get away with this," I said, my voice quieter now but no less fierce, "he'll think he's untouchable. He'll think he can do whatever he wants to whoever he wants, and there won't be any consequences. And I can't—I won't—let that happen."
The mountain road stretched out before us, dark and winding and endless. My headlights caught the reflective markers on the guardrail, little points of light in the blackness like stars fallen to earth.
"So no," I said finally, and my voice was steady now, certain. "I'm not pulling over. I'm not letting you disappear. We're going to that cabin, we're going to wait for Atkins's report, and we're going to prove that Dawson is a corrupt piece of shit."
The silence that followed felt different somehow. Heavier, but not oppressive. Like something had shifted between us, some invisible line crossed that we could never uncross.
I could feel Kael staring at me. His gaze was warm and steady, almost tangible in the small space of the car. It made something tighten in my chest—something that felt dangerously close to... nope, not going there.
"You're either the bravest person I've ever met," Kael said softly, his voice rough with emotion, "or the most stubborn."
"Can't it be both?"
"Yeah." His voice was almost tender now, and I heard the smile in it. "Yeah, it can be both."
I kept my eyes on the road, on the endless curves and the darkness beyond my headlights.
But I was acutely aware of him beside me—the warmth radiating from his body in the cramped space, the way his breathing had changed, slower and deeper now.
The way the air between us felt charged with something I didn't want to name.
"For what it's worth," he said after a moment, "if you get disbarred over my ugly mug, I'm never forgiving myself."
"Your mug isn't that ugly."
The words were out before I could stop them, and heat flooded my cheeks. I felt him staring at me now, could practically hear the grin spreading across his face. The car suddenly felt even smaller, the space between us shrinking to nothing.
"I mean—" I stammered, my voice pitching higher with nervous energy, "it's not about your face. It's about the principle. The principle of the thing."
"Sure, Sarah." His voice was warm with amusement, rich and low, and it seemed to fill every inch of the small car. "The principle."
"Shut up."
"I didn't say anything."
"You were thinking it very loudly."
His laugh was low and rich, filling the small space of the car like honey, and despite everything—despite the danger, despite the risk, despite the fact that I might be throwing my entire career away—I found myself smiling.
Some things were worth fighting for.
This was one of them.
I took the long way to Gatlinburg, winding through the Tennessee mountains on back roads that barely showed up on GPS.
The route added an extra couple of hours to the drive, but it would make us harder to track.
Dawson would expect us to take the main highway—assuming he even knew where we were going, which he shouldn't.
Uncle Rufus's cabin wasn't exactly common knowledge.
The altitude kept climbing, my ears popping with each switchback. Pine trees crowded the narrow road, their branches creating a tunnel of darkness that my headlights could barely penetrate.
"We need supplies," I said, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between us.
"I haven't been to the cabin in over a year.
There won't be any food, and I doubt the propane tank is full.
There's a Walmart just off the highway before we head higher into the mountains. It's open twenty-four hours."
"Perfect." He stretched his arms overhead, his knuckles brushing the car's ceiling. "I could use some real food. That jail slop was—"
"You're not coming in."
He turned to look at me. "What?"
"You're staying in the car." I navigated another hairpin turn, my hands steady on the wheel. "We can't risk anyone seeing you. Dawson might have already put out an APB, and even if he hasn't, you're... distinctive."
"Distinctive." His voice was dry. "That's one way to put it."
"You know what I mean."