Page 39

Chapter Thirty-Nine

M aya

Before I slide into the driver’s seat, prepared to drive off the vast reservation, I look in the back of the vehicle. It’s filled with supplies—food, water, emergency gear, and small pouches of sacred herbs that Sarah insists we’ll need.

“The old ones will watch over you. They favor you.”

The words make Damian murmur a prayer of gratitude in Latin. Although Sarah doesn’t understand a word, she smiles and nods as though they share a secret.

As Sarah drove on our bumpy ride here, I created a route using the paper maps in the glove compartment. “The first leg is the most dangerous,” I murmur as we’re about to say our goodbyes. “They’ll be watching the main roads, but I found some old mining roads and fire trails. Not comfortable, but safer.”

Damian studies the route with a warrior’s eye for strategy. Even in borrowed jeans and a T-shirt, he carries himself with that innate dignity that first drew me to him. Did I really once think I could pretend to own someone like him? Containing all that power? What a fool’s errand.

Tears prick my eyes as I hug Sarah goodbye. These people took us in without question and protected us when we were most vulnerable. How do you thank someone for that kind of gift?

“I know your path lies elsewhere, but you’ll always have sanctuary here if you need it. Both of you.”

“We will remember the lessons you shared with us.” Damian’s voice carries quiet certainty. I nod as I translate his words for her, letting her know I share his sentiments.

Final preparations move quickly after that. My father takes the back seat without complaint—a minor miracle in itself. The flash drive with his evidence rides in my pocket, a weight far heavier than its small size would suggest.

As I slide behind the wheel, Sarah presses one last gift through the window—a thermos of her grandfather’s special tea. “For clarity,” she says with a knowing smile. “And courage.”

The reservation disappears behind us as we take the first of the back roads I marked. Dust clouds mark our passage through the desert landscape, each mile carrying us closer to whatever awaits us in Missouri. My fingers find the crystal in Joseph’s pouch, drawing comfort from its cool solidity.

“You’re very quiet, Fortis ,” Damian says softly.

“Just thinking about everything they did for us. Everything they risked. When I looked up to see all those arrows nocked and ready to fly, my heart was in my throat.”

“Some debts cannot be repaid,” he replies. “Only honored by how we use their gifts.”

In the backseat, my father stays uncharacteristically silent, perhaps finally understanding the weight of what his actions set in motion.

The moon rises higher as we navigate the maze of back roads. Somewhere behind us, corporate forces search in vain. Somewhere ahead, Damian’s brother gladiators prepare to welcome him home. And here, in this moment, we carry the hope of an entire tribe who believe in the power of ancient spirits and modern courage.

I hope our actions honor all they gave us.