Page 42 of Ghost of Talon Mountain
"I don't do permanent. Don't do relationships that require me to check in or explain where I'm going."
"Okay."
"And I definitely don't do romantic fantasies about riding off into the sunset with mountain men who've been living in caves."
"It's a shelter, not a cave."
That gets a laugh out of her. Short and surprised, but real. "You're impossible."
"You said that already."
"Bears repeating." But she's moved closer, her good hand coming up to touch my jaw. "I don't know what happens after this, Chris. I can't promise you anything beyond right now."
"Right now's enough."
And it is. This moment, this connection, this woman who sees the worst of me and hasn't run. Who got shot because of my choices and stayed anyway. Who challenges me and comforts me and makes me want to be the man I was before everything went to hell.
Maybe it won't last. Maybe we'll survive this and go our separate ways and become nothing more than a story we tell about that time on the mountain.
But maybe we won't. Maybe there's something here worth fighting for beyond just staying alive.
"You asked why I'm helping you," I say. "Truth is, I'm not. You're helping me."
She tilts her head, considering. "Then we're helping each other."
"Yeah." The word comes out rough. "We are."
The word feels like a vow. A commitment to more than just surviving. To actually living again. To stepping out of the shadows and facing what I've done.
Sierra nods, satisfied. Then she returns to her work on the sat phone, fingers flying across the keyboard as she builds our trap.
I watch her for a moment—this woman who walked into my woods and refused to leave. Who got shot because of me and didn't back down. Who sees the worst parts of me and somehow makes me want to be better.
She's typing furiously now, crafting the message that will draw Shepherd out. The false intel that will trigger our trap. Her expression is set in fierce concentration, jaw tight, eyes sharp.
Beautiful like a blade. Like fire. Dangerous and essential.
"Got it," she says finally. "Message is ready. Once we send this, there's no taking it back. They'll know we're coming for them."
"Good." I move to her side, read over her shoulder. The message is perfect—just enough detail to be credible, just vague enough to make them desperate. "Send it."
She hits the button. The sat phone chirps once, confirming transmission.
"Done," she whispers.
Outside, the mountain is quiet. The kind of silence that comes before violence. Before everything breaks open and sides are chosen and blood is spilled.
I check my rifle one more time. Count the ammunition. Prepare for what's coming.
Beside me, Sierra does the same. Her movements are efficient, practiced. She's been in firefights before. Survived when others didn't. She knows what we're walking into.
"Chris," she says.
I look at her.
"Whatever happens—" She pauses, searching for words. "Thank you. For not making me do this alone."
"Right back at you."
