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Chapter Thirty-Seven

M aya

The ancient flip phone buzzes against my hip, interrupting our peaceful morning. Joseph’s rules about modern technology don’t extend to emergencies, so I step outside to check the message. My heart nearly stops when I read the message from my father.

“Why did I give him this number?” I mutter, regretting that I ever let him know the number of Kane’s phone.

My stomach does a little flip, knowing that whatever he wants, it can’t be good.

Baby, I messed up bad. These pharma people, they’re not just rich jerks in suits. They’ve got people everywhere—cops, feds, even judges. But I got something on them. Something big. Need to meet. Just you. Please.

My hands shake as I delete the message. When I step back inside, Damian is practicing ancient battle forms in the early light, his movements flowing like water. He pauses mid-motion, reading my tension even from across the room.

“Your father?” He doesn’t need my confirmation. “What troubles has he found now?”

“He says he has information about the pharmaceutical companies.” I sink onto the handwoven fabric top of a wooden bench, suddenly exhausted. “Wants to meet. Alone.”

Damian crosses to me in three fluid strides, his bare feet silent on the earthen floor. “A trap?”

“Maybe.” No. I refuse to keep lying to myself. “Probably,” I admit as I lean into his solid warmth. “But what if it’s not? What if he really has something we can use against these evil companies to get them off our backs?”

“The same man who tried to profit from my existence?” His voice holds no judgment, only careful concern. “Who runs from every challenge?”

“He’s still my father.” My voice gives my emotions away. I sound defensive. “And his fear seems real.”

Damian’s arms tighten around me. “Then we face this together. As we have faced everything else.”

“He specifically said alone—”

“And I specifically say no.” His tone brooks no argument. “We are beyond such games now, Fortis .”

The Latin nickname—his way of calling me “brave one”—makes my heart flutter despite the circumstances.

“Joseph should know about this,” I say finally. “If we’re going to leave the reservation’s protection, we’ll need his guidance.”

We find the elder in his medicine garden, coaxing life from the desert soil. He listens without interruption as we explain the situation, his weathered hands never pausing in their work.

“The spirits have been restless,” he says finally. “They say a storm approaches—not of rain, but of choices. Of consequences.” He fixes me with those piercing eyes. “You must go. Both of you. But not to the meeting place your father suggests.”

He names a location—a sacred site where ancient petroglyphs still guard the canyon walls. “The old ones will watch over you there. And if trouble comes…” His smile carries secrets. “The land remembers its protectors.”

I contact my father with the location, surprised to find when I look at a map, that he’s only five hours away. Though we’ve been driving much longer, we’ve gone out of our way as we attempted to avoid our pursuers.

The morning sun climbs higher as we make preparations. Joseph’s grandson lends us a battered truck that won’t draw attention, and he receives a battered truck in return. Sarah provides supplies and a bundle of sacred herbs “for protection.” The whole community seems to understand the gravity of what we’re undertaking.

Damian drives, so confident with modern vehicles it’s as though he’s driven all his life.

“Whatever comes,” Damian says softly as we leave the reservation’s boundaries, “we face it as one.”

I lace my fingers through his, drawing strength from his quiet certainty. “As one,” I agree.