Page 45 of Keeper of Talon Mountain
I hang up before he can respond. The phone feels heavy in my hand.
Sarah finishes her call, crosses to me. "Rhett and Colton are secure. They got the evidence from the bank—turns out you set up multiple boxes under different names, each with partial copies. Smart. Redundant. Very you."
"I don't remember doing it."
"Your subconscious did. The part of you that was planning to survive even if your conscious mind didn't make it." She studies my face. "You okay?"
"Crane just called. Made threats he can't back up anymore."
"Wounded predator syndrome. He's got nothing left but bluster." But her eyes are sharp, assessing. "We should still watch our backs. Desperate men make dangerous choices."
Zeke's phone rings. He answers, listens, his expression shifting from neutral to grim. "Understood. Keep us posted." He hangs up, looks at us. "That was my contact at the FBI. They've issued arrest warrants for seventeen people connected to the Committee, including Crane. Federal marshals are coordinating raids right now across four states."
"It's really over," Mara says from the kitchen, disbelief in her voice.
"The immediate threat is," Nate corrects. "But the Committee had connections, resources, people who won't take kindly to their operation being exposed. This isn't finished—it's just entering a new phase."
"Which we'll face when it comes," Sarah says firmly. "Right now, we need rest, food, and time to process. We've been running on adrenaline and fear for days. Our bodies and minds need recovery time."
She's right, but part of me resists the idea of standing down, of lowering my guard even slightly. The hyper-vigilance that kept me alive is hard to switch off.
Zara and Nate leave first, Nate promising to coordinate with his contacts about monitoring any remaining Committee activity. Zeke follows shortly after, citing a mountain of paperwork that comes with having federal agents crawling all over his jurisdiction.
Sarah lingers by the door. "I need to head back to Montana, debrief with Victoria Cross and the Echo Ridge team. But Gabe..." She pauses, choosing words carefully. "Your memory isn't coming back because you're not letting it. You built those psychological barriers for protection, but you don't need them anymore. The threat's contained. You can stop hiding from yourself."
"What if I don't like what I remember?"
"Then you deal with it. You're not the man you were three months ago anyway—trauma and amnesia changed you. The question is whether you want to integrate your past with your present or keep them separate forever."
After she leaves, the lodge feels too quiet. Mara's in the kitchen making coffee, the familiar routine of scooping grounds and measuring water. Normal actions that feel surreal after the morning's violence.
"You should rest," I tell her.
"So should you."
"I'm not the one who got hit by a blast wave and dragged through a firefight."
"No, you're just the one who's been carrying this entire situation on your shoulders for days while your memory slowly tears itself apart." She pours two mugs, slides one across the counter to me. "We're both wrecked, Gabe. Let's at least be wrecked together."
The coffee tastes like bitter salvation. I wrap my hands around the mug, letting the heat seep into my palms. "I killed two of Crane's men. Maybe three. I don't know if the one I shot in the parking lot survived."
"Does it bother you?"
"Not as much as it should. That's what bothers me." I meet her eyes. "They were trying to kill us, trying to kill you, and I didn't hesitate. Didn't question. Just put them down like it was routine."
"Because it was routine. For whoever you were before." Her voice is gentle but honest. "You were a soldier, Gabe. That training doesn't just disappear because you forgot specific memories. The muscle memory, the tactical instincts—those are deeper than conscious thought."
"Sarah said I'm not letting my memories return. That I built the amnesia as protection but don't need it anymore."
"Do you believe her?"
I consider the question while the lodge settles around us, wood expanding in warming air, the subtle sounds of a building at rest. "I don't know. Part of me wants to remember everything—who I was, what I did, the person I used to be. But another part..." I trail off, searching for words. "Another part is afraid that person isn't someone I want to be anymore."
"You're not who you were. You get to choose who you are now." She sets down her coffee. "The past happened. You can't change that. But you don't have to let it own you either."
I can't argue with that. Don't want to.
"I think I need to sleep," I admit. "Really sleep, not just close my eyes and replay the firefight in my head."
