Chapter 7 #2
"Jake." My voice sounds hollow, distant, like it belongs to someone else.
"DOJ pulled Tom's files officially. They've flagged my alias credit cards, issued a recall order.
They know I'm in Alaska." I scroll through the rest, stomach dropping further with each message.
"Federal marshals are coordinating with state police.
Days at most before they identify my exact location. "
Finn's hands tighten on the wheel, knuckles going white against tanned skin. "Days. That's not much time."
"It's enough to run. Get out of Alaska before they narrow down my location. Disappear into a new cover identity, start over somewhere else." The words taste like ash, bitter and wrong. "Leave the investigation to the task force and hope they can finish what Tom started."
"Is that what you want to do?"
The question forces me to confront what I've been avoiding since Jake's messages started arriving.
Running has kept me alive for years. Every time the net got too tight, I moved to a new city, a new identity, a new operational theater.
Survival through constant motion, never staying anywhere long enough to leave traces someone could follow.
But running now means abandoning the evidence we just collected. It means leaving Finn to face questions about where I went and why he helped me. It means letting the Marshal win, letting Tom's murder go unanswered, letting three agents' deaths remain my fault in the official record.
"No," I say quietly. "I don't want to run. But I don't know if staying is survivable."
Finn pulls the truck over to the side of the road and kills the engine. We're maybe an hour outside Glacier Hollow, close enough to cell coverage that my phone keeps chiming with new notifications I'm ignoring. He turns to face me fully, expression serious.
"You've been running for years," he says. "How's that worked out?"
"I'm still alive."
"Are you?" He reaches across the console and takes my hand. His palm is warm, callused, steady against my trembling fingers. "Or are you just surviving? There's a difference, Cara. Survival is about not dying. Living is about having something worth staying alive for."
The question cuts through every defense I've built.
Years of running has kept my heart beating, but I can't remember the last time I felt anything beyond exhaustion and determination and the constant low-grade fear that comes from being hunted.
Last night was the first time in years I've felt alive instead of just functional.
"What are you suggesting?" I ask.
"Finish what you started. Use what time we have to get the evidence to Zeke, coordinate with the task force, build a case strong enough that it doesn't matter if they find you. Make them come to you on your terms instead of running scared."
"That's a good way to get arrested."
"Maybe. Or maybe it's a good way to force their hand. They've been operating in shadows, using your fugitive status to keep you isolated and discredited. What happens if you surface with evidence they can't ignore? If you make them either charge you publicly or admit the frame-up?"
It's a gamble. A massive one. The Marshal has resources I can't match, connections I can't counter, power I can't overcome through conventional channels.
But Finn's right that running hasn't gotten me closer to justice.
It's just kept me breathing while the people who destroyed my career continue operating with impunity.
"I need to think about this," I say finally. "We need to know what the task force has, whether they can move without me."
"I'll reach out to Zeke," Finn says. "He's got connections to the task force. Can ask what they know without compromising you." He starts the truck again and pulls back onto the road. "But Cara? Whatever you decide, I'm in. You're not alone in this anymore."
The words make my throat tight. For years, every decision has been mine alone to make and mine alone to face the consequences of. The idea that someone else is willing to stand with me, risk themselves for a fight that isn't theirs, feels both terrifying and necessary.
We drive the rest of the way to Glacier Hollow in silence. My phone keeps buzzing with notifications, but I ignore them all. Whatever Jake is sending can wait until I'm somewhere secure enough to think through the implications without panic driving every decision.
Landscape rolls past outside the windows. Snow-covered roads give way to plowed highways, wilderness to scattered homesteads, isolation to the outskirts of civilization. Each mile brings us closer to the moment where I have to choose between survival and justice.
Finn's cabin appears through the trees, isolated and safe. He pulls up to the porch and kills the engine, then sits for a moment without moving. Wind rocks the truck slightly, howling around the corners of the building. Inside those walls, I could hide for days. Maybe longer if we're careful.
"Your call," he says. "Run or fight. I'll support either decision. But you should know that fighting means you stay here, in my territory, with my connections helping protect you. Running means you're alone again."
I look at him, this man who's become so much more than a tactical asset in the span of days. Jaw set with determination, eyes serious but not judgmental. He's laying out options without pressure, trusting me to make the right choice for myself.
My career might be over. My cover is burning.
Somewhere out there, the person who framed me knows I'm getting close.
Every survival instinct I have screams run.
Disappear. Start over in a new city with a new identity, new operational security that might buy me another few years of staying invisible.
But visibility has never been the goal. Justice has. And running now means abandoning everything Tom died trying to protect.
I look at Finn, at the determination in his eyes, at the man who's choosing to stand with me when he could walk away clean.
"I'm staying," I say. "Whatever time we have left. We finish this."