Chapter 2 #2
She leads me to a smaller room. Less formal setup. Couch, chairs arranged to feel less like an interrogation. A woman sits in one chair. She has a kind face, notepad in hand. Victim advocate.
Traci sits on the couch.
Gray sweatshirt swallowing her whole. Hair pulled back tight showing bones where there should be softness. Skin pale enough to see veins beneath. Hands folded in her lap, fingers locked together. Staring at the floor. Shoulders curled inward. She's making herself smaller, trying to disappear.
Tactical read runs automatic. Underweight by too much. Defensive posture. Watching everything while pretending not to. Breathing shallow and controlled. Someone who's learned to be quiet to stay safe.
She doesn't look up when the door opens. Doesn't react to voices. Just waits for the next bad thing.
"Traci," Jennifer says quietly. "Your uncle's here."
Traci's head comes up.
Recognition flashes. Matching memory with reality. Breath catches. For half a second hope breaks through before she kills it. Hope gets you hurt.
I move forward. Deliberate steps. Hands visible. No sudden moves. "You're coming with me."
She's family and I'm extracting her from this situation.
She stares at me. What she's seen doesn't fade just because you survive it.
The victim advocate, Rebecca Macintosh based on the nameplate, speaks up. "Traci, your uncle has agreed to guardianship. That means you'd leave foster care and live with him. It's your choice."
She hasn't looked away. Searching. Calculating. Deciding if I'm real or just another adult who'll disappear when things get hard.
I crouch down. Eye level. Close enough she knows I'm not bullshitting her. "I wasn't there when your dad died. Wasn't there when you needed someone. I'm sorry, but I'm here now. You're not staying in the system."
Her throat works. Tears well up but don't fall. She's cried herself out already.
For a second I think she'll refuse. Decide I'm not worth the risk.
Then she gives a sharp nod. She's made her choice.
"Good. We're leaving tomorrow."
Paperwork takes hours. Legal aid walks me through forms. I sign everything without reading the fine print. Temporary guardianship, emergency placement authorization, medical consent. Whatever keeps her out of the system and under my protection.
Miller pulls me aside while Jennifer helps Traci gather her things. "We've coordinated with Sheriff MacAllister. He's expecting you in Glacier Hollow. Lodging's arranged. Dr. Helena Sage has already been briefed on Traci's medical needs."
"Threat assessment?"
"Unknown. We pulled her from a secondary house, not a primary location. Can't confirm if she had direct contact with leadership. But we can't assume she's not a target."
"Understood."
He hands me a satellite phone. "Direct line to my office. Any problems, you call."
I pocket it and head to where Traci stands with Jennifer and Rebecca. Small backpack in her hands. Everything she owns fits in one bag.
"Ready?"
She nods.
Hotel near the airport. Miller arranged a room for the night. We fly to Glacier Hollow at first light. Two beds. I take the one by the door. Traci sets her backpack on the other bed but doesn't unpack. Just sits there.
"When's the last time you ate?"
She holds up five fingers.
"Hours or days?"
She shrugs.
I call down to the desk. Order food. While we wait, Traci pulls out a notebook and pen. Writes something, hands it to me.
Why did you come?
"You're family."
She takes the notebook back. Writes again. You don't know me anymore.
"Doesn't matter. You needed extraction. I'm here."
She studies my face. Deciding if I'm lying. Then writes one more line.
Thank you.
Two words. They shouldn't hit this hard, but they do. I don't respond, just meet her stare.
Food arrives. She picks at it but gets some down. Better than nothing. She falls asleep early, still dressed, curled on top of the covers ready to bolt. I grab a blanket from the closet, drape it over her without waking her.
Then I pull a chair to the corner where I've got sight lines to both the door and the window. Old habits. Position where I can monitor the entry point and watch the parking lot. Making sure nobody tracked us here.
Threat assessment. Vehicles scattered across the lot when I first sit down. I count them, log positions, note which ones have drivers inside. A sedan several rows back with condensation on the windows. Occupied but stationary. Could be nothing. Could be surveillance. I watch it.
Headlights sweep across the lot every few minutes. I track each one until it parks or passes. Memorize plate numbers. Watch for patterns. Anyone circling. Anyone sitting too long.
The wind picks up around midnight. Tree branches scrape the building. My hand's on the knife before I register what made the noise. Years alone means I'm not adjusted for civilization anymore. Too many sounds. Too many angles. Too many places for problems to hide.
Behind me Traci makes a sound in her sleep. Small and trapped.
I turn enough to check without leaving the window. She's curled tighter, face pressed into the pillow, breathing too fast. Nightmare running its course.
Waking her might make it worse. Might trigger a panic response. Better to let her work through it unless she needs intervention.
She settles after a minute. Breathing evens out. I go back to the window.
Sedan's still there deep into the night. Engine off. Windows clear. Empty now. Driver went inside hours ago. I note it anyway.
Morning comes gray and cold. Traci's already up, backpack ready. Doesn't say anything. Doesn't need to. She's prepped for movement.
Miller picks us up early. The drive to the airfield is quiet. Traci watches the city pass, face blank.
The flight to Glacier Hollow takes time even in the fed's jet, which moves considerably faster than the bush planes or helicopters that usually service the area.
Miller mentions it would take considerably more time by road even when the roads are passable, which isn't always a given here in Alaska.
The mountains rise below us, wilderness stretching in every direction.
Traci presses her face to the window, watching the landscape change as we fly deeper into remote Alaska.
We land at a small airstrip. Zeke's truck waits near the hangar.
He straightens when we approach. Years since I've seen him. He's measuring me the same way I'm measuring him. Calculating how much has changed, whether I'm still operational or something else.
"Eli."
"Zeke."
We shake hands. Brief, firm. No bullshit.
His attention shifts to Traci. Not pity. Just acknowledgment. "This is Traci?"
She confirms with a glance.
"Welcome to Glacier Hollow. I've got a cabin set up for you both. And Dr. Sage is expecting you when you're ready."
I look at Traci. "We're doing a medical check. You good with that?"
She inclines her head slightly.
"Then let's move."
We load into Zeke's truck. Glacier Hollow looks the same. Main street, buildings, mountains beyond. But coming back after years of isolation throws me.
Sound first. Engine noise. Tires on pavement. Other vehicles. People talking. Door chimes. A dog barking. A radio bleeding through an open window. All of it crashes together into white noise that grates against my skull.
Too many people. Every single one a variable I have to assess and dismiss. A woman with a stroller. Harmless. A man loading supplies. Civilian. Kids on bikes. No threat. A couple walking. Irrelevant. My brain runs the calculations automatic but it's exhausting. Too many inputs. Too many angles.
Smells next. Exhaust fumes. Coffee. Bread. All of it artificial after years of clean air and woodsmoke.
Buildings press too close. Street narrows the sight lines. Can't get a proper defensive position when structures block visibility and people clog the lanes. Trapped. Exposed. No way to establish perimeter security.
My hands want to curl into fists. I keep them loose through deliberate effort.
In the back seat Traci's watching me in the side mirror. Recognition passes between us. She knows what it's like when people become threats just by existing.
"Cabin's at the edge of town," Zeke says. "Two bedrooms, woodstove, good security. Private. You'll have space."
"Appreciated."
"Doc Sage already did Traci's initial evaluation. This is follow-up."
I glance at Traci in the back seat. She's watching the town but her shoulders are less rigid than they were in Anchorage.
Zeke parks in front of the clinic. Clean building, well-maintained. We head inside.
Antiseptic smell hits first. Then coffee.
A woman near the reception desk looks up.
Her dark hair has a few streaks of silver, and her demeanor suggests she's assessing me quickly and accurately.
She takes in how I stand near the door, how I scan the room, where my weight's distributed. She sees clean through me.
"Eli Vance?"
"Yeah."
"Helena Sage. Marshal Miller briefed me." She looks past me to Traci. "Hello, Traci. Good to see you again. I'm glad you made it back safely with your uncle."
Traci's shoulders drop slightly. Helena doesn't spook her.
Helena gestures toward the back. "Let's do a follow-up exam, make sure everything's healing properly. Your uncle can come with you if that helps."
Traci looks at me. Question.
"I'll be there."
She follows Helena through the clinic. I stay close enough Traci can see me while giving the doctor room to work. Exam room's standard. Table, equipment, sink. One door. Window with frosted glass facing the back lot. Ground floor. Glass exit if extraction becomes necessary.
Helena moves efficiently. Explains what she's doing before she touches. Checks vitals. Examines old injuries. Makes notes. Asks questions Traci answers with head movements or brief gestures.
Traci keeps glancing at me. Making sure I'm still there. I don't move unless necessary. A fixed point she can orient around.
Helena finishes. "Everything's healing well. You're doing good." She looks at me. "I want to see her again in two weeks. I've got contact information for a trauma counselor when she's ready."
"Noted."
"Make sure she's eating. Regular meals. Plenty of protein. She's still underweight." Helena hands Traci a card. "Anything you need, medical or otherwise, you call. Day or night."
Traci takes the card. Holds it carefully.
We leave the clinic. Head back to the truck. Zeke drives us to the cabin at the edge of town. Two bedrooms, woodstove, good security, windows with clear sight lines.
A dark green pickup sits in the driveway.
"Yours," Zeke says, reading my look. "Four-wheel drive, winterized, reliable. Keys are inside. Figured you'd need your own wheels."
Smart. I wouldn't have asked, but I would've needed it.
Zeke helps us unload. Shows me the setup: reinforced door, quality locks, defensible angles. "You need anything, I'm a call away."
"Understood."
He leaves. Truck engine fades into the distance.
Traci stands in the main room, backpack still on her shoulders. She moves to the window facing the forest. Stands there looking out at the trees, mountains beyond. First real breath she's taken since Anchorage.
I check the perimeter. Log sight lines. Note approach vectors. The cabin's defensible. Isolated. Good cover from the tree line but clear fields of fire if anyone approaches from the road.
She turns from the window. Pulls out her notebook. Writes something and holds it up.
We're staying?
"Yeah." I set my bag down near the door. "We're staying."
She finally takes off the backpack. Sets it on the couch instead of the floor. Still ready to grab it and run, but making the attempt to settle.
I move to the woodstove. Check the fuel and start building a fire. The routine's familiar. Calming. Something I can control while everything else is variable.
Behind me, Traci's silent. When I glance back, she's writing in her notebook again. Her shoulders are less rigid than they were this morning.
The fire catches. Heat starts to fill the room.
For now, this is enough. A defensible position. Traci safe. The network still out there somewhere, but not here. Not yet.
I'll take what I can get.