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Bear's Family Residence, Kadoka, Oglala Lakota County Sacred Land, South Dakota - Two Months Later

He crested the hill just after sunset.

The land opened up like memory, rolling plains bathed in gold, soft shadows stretching across ancient soil. The house stood where the earth dipped gently toward a line of cottonwoods, the silhouette quiet, strong, and timeless against a sky streaked with deepening blue.

Bear pulled the truck to a slow stop. Killed the engine. For a long moment, he just sat there, letting the silence settle around him like sage smoke.

It was a timber-frame house, earth-toned and wide-shouldered, set back from the main road on land they’d bought not far from Pine Ridge.

He and Ray had walked this property before it was ever built.

Had stood at the edge of the slope and watched the sunrise, Ray saying softly, “This land remembers.”

They’d poured every dream into it.

The wraparound porch hugged the whole structure, generous and wide, built for gathering. For breathing. For watching stars. A quilt hung folded over the railing, already touched by wind.

Smoke drifted from the chimney, faint and familiar.

Flint stirred in the backseat, whined once.

Bear opened the door and stepped out into the stillness. The earth crunched beneath his boots. The scent of cedarwood and sweetgrass rose in the air.

Horses grazed just beyond the corral. Heads lifted briefly to acknowledge his return before dipping again into the grass. Their manes caught the last light, wild and peaceful.

The sweat lodge stood behind the house, half hidden by a small stand of juniper.

The prayer ties on the nearby fence fluttered softly in the breeze.

Beyond that, the medicine wheel garden, stones arranged with quiet precision, sage and lavender lining the edges.

A space for balance. For prayer. For reckoning.

Bear walked up the steps slowly, running his hand over the railing he’d sanded himself. The door opened before he could reach it.

His mother stood there, her eyes already glassy, her arms opening without hesitation.

“ WíyakA t?a?ka ,” she whispered, calling him by the childhood name Grandfather Ray had given him. Feather of strength. “You came. I wanted to travel to San Diego, be there, but?—”

“I understand, Mom,” he said gruffly, hugging her tight. “I had support. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“So strong.”

Inside, the house was warm. Sacred.

The walls bore hand-carved art, gifted by a distant cousin. The floor was lined with rugs woven in deep reds and ochres. Ray’s pipe sat in its place of honor, nestled on the fireplace mantel between two iron feathers.

The Lakota star quilt stretched over the back of the couch, cerulean and white, stitched with prayers.

The scent of stew still lingered, along with burning sage.

He moved through the space like he remembered it in dreams. Every inch meant something. Every beam held the story of his family. Every nail and board and breath of this house had been placed with intention.

Ray’s chair sat empty in the corner, a wool blanket folded neatly over the armrest.

The weight in Bear’s chest expanded, cracked, and realigned.

He didn’t live here. But this place…this was home .

He turned slowly toward the back of the house, toward the porch that overlooked Bear Butte in the distance.

There, as if summoned by memory, Grandfather Ray stood, leaning on his cane, wrapped in a quilt. Watching the sky, like always.

Bear stepped outside. For a moment, nothing moved.

Then Ray smiled. “Welcome home, my grandson.”

Grandfather Ray had changed.

Bear saw it the moment he stepped through the screen door, his shoulders a little more stooped, his face carved deeper with time. Still proud, still watching the world with those fierce hawk eyes, but slower. Softer. A man nearing his last season.

Ray stood and pulled Bear into a hug that was both bone-deep and trembling. “When the Navy called, I told them not to bring you back in a box,” he said gruffly, the words rough against Bear’s temple. “I meant it.”

Bear swallowed hard. He could still hear the heartfelt words, could feel it, from when he was bleeding out on that hotel floor. I can’t lose another grandchild. It had echoed inside him when the pain dulled, and the world tilted. It had kept him tethered.

“I’m okay,” Bear whispered.

“You came home,” Ray said. “That’s enough for now.”

They sat outside after dinner, wrapped in old quilts, mugs of sage tea in their hands. The stars hung thick above them, cold and alive. Ray’s breath fogged the air with each exhale. It smelled like pine and old firewood and the comfort of shared silence.

“She’d love this night,” Ray murmured, eyes still fixed skyward.

Bear didn’t have to ask who. His chest tightened.

“I hate the system that failed her,” he said. “I hate the way no one looked long enough. Fought hard enough. I would burn the whole goddamn world down to get her back.”

Ray nodded slowly. “I know.”

Bear’s hand clenched around the mug. “The worst part is…I don’t even know if she’s alive. Or if I’ll ever find her.”

Ray was quiet a long moment. Then, “The Great Spirits know. That is enough for now.”

“I want more than that.”

“I know,” Ray said again. “So did she.”

Bear looked at his grandfather then, really looked, and it hit him hard. His voice was the same. His eyes still steady. But his bones…they were tired. Like the land was already calling him back.

“I don’t think you have much time left,” Bear said quietly.

Ray chuckled. “You always did skip to the truth.”

A beat passed. Then Ray sighed and looked up.

“My only regret is not knowing what happened to Ayla. I will carry that with me when I go to the Spirits.”

Bear bit down on the swell of grief. “You gave everything for us.”

Ray turned to him, eyes bright with clarity. “You gave more . Nathaniel is thriving. Your mother is working one job instead of three, and she’s dating again, laughing. Your father lives in regret. Let me tell you, that is its own punishment.”

Bear looked away.

Ray’s voice dropped. “Let it go, Dakota. Let that rage fly to the stars. Let it lift from your shoulders. You have met and surpassed anything we could have hoped for you.”

He reached over, his hand rough and warm, and gripped Bear’s forearm.

“You are a hero. A warrior. A fierce protector of your land. But maybe now, my grandson…” Ray’s eyes softened. “Maybe it’s time you found your heart.”

Bear didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His throat burned.

It wasn’t that simple.

His mind kept looping back to Bailee.

To the way she’d touched him, to the quiet certainty in her fingers, to how her braid had fallen across his chest while she combed his hair like it meant something.

But he didn’t feel hope.

There were too many walls. Too many truths between them. She was fire and secrets and precision. He…he was bone-deep tired of losing people.

Still, his gaze drifted up to the stars.

His body ached, not just from wounds but from absence. From the memory of her hands, the echo of her breath at his neck. Her gentleness still lived in the strands she’d braided.

Could someone ache like this and still walk upright?

He didn’t know.

But he feared that hollowness inside him would eat him alive, like the Iya , the devouring spirit of Lakota legend, a hungry shadow with no heart, only mouth.

Ray’s words circled back in his chest.

Maybe it’s time you found your heart.

Bear stared at the sky.

Wondered if he could find it…before the darkness swallowed him whole.

Sleeping Wind, Bonita, San Diego, California

The late afternoon sun stretched long shadows over the dirt track behind Bear’s house, casting gold across the low hills and softening the hard lines of the barn, the corral, the land where a warrior walked, rode, and rested.

Oak and mesquite framed the edge of the horizon, and a faint wind stirred the dust just enough to keep it alive.

A picnic table stood in the shade of the old pine, warped at one edge, its surface worn smooth by years of elbows and sweat and coffee cups and arguments.

Zorro leaned against it, one leg kicked out in front of him, a bottle of lime Jarritos sweating in his hand. Bear sat on the edge of a nearby bench, Flint stretched out in the dirt beside him, head on his paws, watching the team with quiet alertness.

They were all there. Buck in full relax mode, Stetson tilted low.

Blitz cleaning something that might have once been sunglasses.

Gator sprawled with his arms behind his head.

D-Day was eating beef jerky like it owed him money, and Joker was lying with his head in his wife’s lap, looking nothing like their LT.

Even Professor looked halfway relaxed, sipping slowly from a glass bottle of kombucha like it didn’t secretly contain the souls of a thousand berries crushed under historical pressure.

Zorro tipped his bottle at Bear. “You know what I like about this place?”

Bear didn’t look up. “It’s not Rio?”

Zorro chuckled. “Nah. It’s that, for once, I’m not patching up your bloody asses in a war zone.”

That earned a few grunts of agreement.

Buck grinned. “Only because you finally let Doc Sunshine get her hands on you.”

Zorro didn’t answer. Just rolled the cold bottle against the back of his neck and let the smile tug at his mouth.

Everly Quinn. Complicated. Infuriating. Addictive.

He’d taken a bullet, delivered a baby, and wouldn’t let go of a dream to get here, but she was now the hardest truth he didn’t want to run from.

Gator checked his roasted marshmallow and gave Bear a side glance. “So, Kemosabe, you’re the last man standing. Have I noticed a certain spark with a CIA spook?”

Bear didn’t move. Just reached down to rub behind Flint’s ears.

Zorro grinned. He couldn’t help it. It was nice to have the heat off him. “Ah, come on. Bear’s not afraid of no ghost.”