Page 79 of Faron
I didn’t answer it right away. Just stood there, staring at the door. For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t reaching for my gun.
I opened it to find Faron on the other side, holding a bag of takeout and two cold sodas.
“You didn’t eat today,” he said, stepping inside without asking.
I didn’t argue.
He set everything down on the table, like this was any other night—like we weren’t both standing on the other side of a battlefield.
I sat down slowly. “Is it really over?”
He looked at me, steady. “Phelan’s in federal custody. Tag’s already testifying to the paper trail. The girl from the warehouse is in protective care, somewhere safe. She doesn’t want to come forward, but she’s alive. And that matters.”
I swallowed. “I failed her. That night. I was so sure I killed Caleb, I didn’t think about what I left behind.”
“You didn’t fail her,” he said. “Yousurvived. And because you did, she got a second chance.”
I looked down at my hands. They weren’t shaking anymore.
“Do you ever wonder who you could’ve been without all the trauma?” I asked softly.
Faron leaned back in the chair, his voice rough with memory. “Sometimes. But then I realize… I like the person I am now. The pain built her. And the people I’ve helped since—you’vehelped since—that counts for something.”
I nodded, eyes stinging. “I used to think strength was keeping it all locked down. Now I think maybe… strength is letting yourselffeel it.All of it.”
“Then you’re the strongest person I know.”
A quiet settled between us. The kind of quiet that didn’t need to be filled.
He handed me a takeout box. “Blue said to tell you the rec center’s yours. If you want it.”
I blinked. “Mine?”
“Full freedom to run community outreach. Therapy. Investigations. Whatever you want. She said every good place needs someone like you to fight for it.”
I couldn’t speak for a second. My throat was too full.
Finally: “Tell her thank you.”
Faron stood and walked over to the window, looking out at the fading light. “You ever think about going back to the reservation? Meeting your realitives.”
I followed him, standing beside him in the golden glow. “All the time.”
“You could still do both. Run this place. Go back on weekends. Bring what you’ve learned to both.”
“I could,” I whispered. “And for the first time… I think I actuallywill.”
He smiled, a slow, proud thing.
“You’re still a Lightfoot,” he said. “And Lightfoots don’t break. Werise.”
I closed my eyes and breathed deep.
The city didn’t feel heavy anymore. It felt…possible.
And for the first time in five years, I wasn’t running from my past.
I waswalking straight into my future.
