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The office held its breath, waiting for his decision. Outside, life continued its normal rhythm, but in here, time seemed suspended between heartbeats.
"I'll do it," Cooper said softly, his hand still resting on Mitchell's photo. "Not because I'm brave. But because she'd want her death to mean something. To help stop him."
Sheila nodded slowly, understanding the weight of what he was agreeing to. "We'll start planning immediately."
He looked up at them. "Just promise me one thing."
"What's that?"
"When you catch him? Make sure he knows that knowledge isn't preserved by killing the people who study it."
***
The light of the rising sun crept across Cooper's back yard like a cautious animal, casting long shadows from the scattered research papers that covered his patio table. The mountains loomed behind him, a dark wall holding secrets in chambers of stone and ice. He hunched over his laptop as he tried to find words that would draw a killer's attention.
"Not too academic," Sheila said from where she sat across from him, steam rising from her coffee cup like morning mist. "Make it personal. About Mitchell."
Cooper nodded, though his hands still trembled slightly. They'd been at this for hours, crafting the perfect statement—one that would catch Whitman's eye without seeming artificial. The air held a bite of coming winter, and somewhere in the distance, a mourning dove called out to the breaking day.
"What about this?" He cleared his throat, reading from the screen. "'Dr. Mitchell understood something fundamental about how knowledge survives through time. Her work wasn't just about documenting traditions—it was about protecting wisdom that modern society has forgotten how to value.'"
Finn emerged from the house with fresh coffee. "Good. Now make it about continuing her mission."
Cooper's fingers moved across keys, dancing with possibilities that could cost him his life. The mountains watched with ancient indifference as another piece of their trap took shape in the growing light of dawn.
Sheila's phone began to ring. It occurred to her that it had rung earlier, but she'd barely noticed because she'd been so focused on coaching Cooper.
"I need to take this," she told Finn and Cooper, suspecting it could be important. She moved toward the garden gate where autumn leaves gathered in copper drifts against weathered wood.
"Sheriff Stone," she answered, her voice carrying professional neutrality despite the unease crawling up her spine.
"You don't know me." The man's voice was smoke over gravel, each word measured with careful intent. "But I'm an old friend of your father's. We need to talk."
Wind stirred the leaves at her feet, sending them dancing like fragments of scattered thoughts. Behind her, she could hear Cooper and Finn still discussing the statement, their voices muffled by distance and growing tension.
"About what?"
"Things it wouldn't be wise to say over the phone."
The mountains loomed beyond Cooper's yard, holding secrets in their ancient stone. Sheila's hand tightened on her phone. "Who are you?"
"I told you, I'm a friend of your father's."
"Does he know you're calling?"
A pause. "He knows."
"At least give me your name," Sheila said.
"I'll do you one better. Let's meet face to face."
"Where?"
"I'll text you the address."
Sheila had a bad feeling about this. "Why all the cloak and dagger?" she asked.
"Do I really have to spell it out? I'm putting my neck on the line for you. If they find out, I'm even having this conversation with you…"