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CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

As Tyson talked to different people at the shelter, Olivia felt herself drawn to a girl named Tina.

She was probably ten years old and adorable with her tanned skin and dark eyes. Unlike the adults, who maintained a certain reserve, Tina’s curiosity was open and unguarded. She’d been watching Olivia seemingly since the moment she and Tyson had arrived.

“Do you work with Tyson on TV?” Tina scooted closer on the bench.

Olivia smiled. “I do—for a little while, at least. I’m learning about his fitness program.”

“He teaches us too.” Tina beamed. “He says strong bodies make strong minds.”

“That sounds like him.” Olivia smiled. “Do you live here at the reservation?”

Tina nodded. “My whole life. Sometimes I stay with Mr. Tyson too, when my mom has to travel for work. He’s trying to build us a school so we can learn our language and stories. My grandmother says it’s the most important thing anyone’s done for us in a long time.”

“Your grandmother sounds very wise.”

Tina nodded. “She is.”

Before Olivia could ask more, movement at the edge of the clearing caught her eye.

A figure ducked behind a tree.

Her pulse quickened.

Was it him? Had the man bent on tormenting her followed her to the reservation?

Panic began to bubble inside her.

Because if that was the man who’d sent her roses, what exactly was he planning to do here?

* * *

Olivia’s pulse quickened . . . until she recognized the blue windbreaker of their security detail.

She released the breath she’d been holding.

It was just Donald, trying to keep guard while also giving them privacy.

She was always so on edge—even when she shouldn’t be.

Even here, she couldn’t escape the watchful eyes that had become part of her life.

As Tina chattered about her friends and the pottery her grandmother made, Olivia found herself relaxing despite everything.

There was something about this place—the mountains rising in the distance, the simplicity of the gathering, the easy laughter—that felt healing.

When Tina ran off to play with other children, an elderly woman settled next to Olivia. Her face was mapped with deep lines that spoke of decades under the sun, but her eyes were sharp and assessing.

“You are troubled,” she said, not a question but a statement of fact.

Olivia blinked, surprised. “I . . . yes, I suppose I am.”

The woman nodded as though Olivia had confirmed something important. “There are some who carry darkness with them. It follows, like shadow.”

Olivia drew in a sharp breath.

The woman’s gnarled fingers reached for Olivia’s wrist, turning it gently to examine the fading marks from the ropes that had once bound her. Most people didn’t notice them.

Most days, Olivia didn’t either.

But this woman seemed to know instinctively that they were there.

“And some who carry light, even when walking through darkness,” the woman continued.

Olivia’s pulse quickened, and she shuddered.

This woman was hitting a little too close to the truth.

Olivia withdrew her arm and muttered thank you to the woman.

Then her gaze searched the crowd for Tyson.

But even when she found him, the woman’s words wouldn’t leave her mind.

Which one was Olivia—did she carry darkness or light?