Two boys crowded around—brothers, most likely. The girl was safe.
And that’s when the dark-haired ranger turned, his gaze locking onto her camera. Impossible—he couldn’t know it was there, hidden in the branches. But the way he stared, head tilted, sent electricity down her spine.
He lifted his radio, lips moving in words she couldn’t hear. Reporting her position?
Her pulse kicked up again—a different kind of alarm. Not Bratva, but someone had noticed her. Someone with authority. Someone who might ask questions she couldn’t answer.
She pulled her keyboard closer. The bus’s interior—warm mint-green walls, the scent of new cupboards—suddenly felt like a cage. She’d been so careful, blending into the landscape, but that piercing look told her she wasn’t invisible.
Her fingers hesitated over the keys. She could hack the park’s database, but that radio was analog. She pulled up her supply list, mental gears shifting. A scanner. She needed a police scanner. If the rangers were onto her, she’d hear it first.
She glanced around the bus—her home, her shield. Every inch engineered for survival. The cameras alone had taken her over a week to mount and position in the trees.
But survival wasn’t enough anymore. If Emberly was right, the Bratva wouldn’t stop until they found her. Having a digital report filed by a ranger was the last thing she needed.
Nimue powered down her monitors, screens fading to black. She grabbed a jacket—brown, nondescript, forgettable—and stepped outside the bus’s front door, gathering the few items she had out there. She eyed the cameras mounted in the trees. No time to collect them.
Maybe if she moved for a week, they’d lose interest. She could return later.
She climbed into the driver’s seat, engine rumbling to life beneath her. As the bus rolled forward, dust kicking up behind her, the Bratva’s message replayed in her head.
New lead on target.
They hadn’t found her this time. But she had to stay one step ahead if she hoped to survive.
TWO
Maybe he shouldn’t have tacked on that extra mile at this altitude, but Liam had energy to torch after waking to a couple dozen notifications branding him a hero after yesterday’s rescue. If they only knew. The weight of that word—hero—sat like a stone in his chest. He wasn’t a hero. Heroes didn’t let friends plummet to their deaths in the Swiss Alps.
And now, of course, Christiana’s face blazed through his mind again—the image he couldn’t seem to escape no matter how much he punished his body.
Liam let the fire scorching his lungs and muscles drive him harder. Each breath at this elevation sliced like glass shards, but he craved the pain. It muffled the chaos, drowned the noise in his head. Between the gravel grinding under his running shoes and the wind whipping pine and sagebrush against his face, Liam almost believed he could outrun it all—the guilt, the shame, the hollow ache that thrummed in his soul.
His watch buzzed at the five-mile mark. He dropped to a walk, chest heaving, sweat streaming down his temples. Heart rate: 165 bpm. Dangerous, but he didn’t care. He paused at the canyon’s edge, letting his lungs recover. The North Rim stretched out before him, a vast expanse of rugged beauty,the sky pale blue and streaked with gold from the climbing sun, casting shadows across the rocky ledges. A place that was supposed to offer a fresh start.
His watch buzzed again. Twenty minutes until breakfast. Just enough time to scrub off the sweat.
He jogged toward the Ranger Roost—the park service’s attempt at giving staff housing a friendly name. The cluster of rustic cabins nestled among towering ponderosa pines, their stone foundations and weathered wood siding designed to blend with the forest.
Liam’s cabin sat third from the end. He shouldered open the heavy wooden door, the scent of pine and aged timber greeting him. The park service had built these quarters for function, not comfort—two small bedrooms, a shared bathroom down the hall, and a common area barely large enough for a couch and kitchenette. But after months of European hostels and temporary lodging, even this felt like luxury.
He pushed open the door to his shared room with Teague, another backcountry ranger.
Teague seemed solid, if reckless—a trait Liam recognized all too well. That kind of recklessness had once defined him, back when he’d launched first into any adventure with no thought of consequences. Now, that version of himself felt like a ghost.
Haunting him.
The room reeked of cedar and gear musk—boots, ropes, and dirty laundry colonizing Teague’s side of the space. A narrow window leaked in light, but not enough to banish the shadows. Liam stepped over and ripped open the curtains. Morning sun flooded the room, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air.
“You really have to do that?” A groan erupted from Teague’s bed, his voice muffled by the pillow smothering his face.
“Seven forty. Breakfast in twenty.” Liam collapsed onto his bed’s edge, the mattress creaking under his weight, and kicked off his shoes.
Teague sat up, groaning, then swung his legs over the edge and ran a hand over his auburn curls, without much luck. His hair spiked in every direction—chaos that matched his personality. “I may be late to breakfast, but I had three more hours at the bonfire than you did because you needed to turn in. What are you, eighty?”
Not eighty, but if he’d had to listen to one more person gushing about the rescue, Liam would have lost his mind. “I needed sleep for my run. Training for the Rim to Rim.”
“Thought that was in October.” Teague rubbed sleep from his eyes.