Thomas glanced at Eliza, saw the determination in the set of her shoulders, and felt something settle in his chest.

Whatever came next, they’d face it together.

That would have to be enough.

They rode hard for the first hour, pushing through scrub oak and manzanita that scratched at their legs and caught in the hor’s manes.

Thomas kept them off the main trail, following deer paths and dry creek beds that wound through the hills like veins through stone.

Behind them the dust of their passage hung in the still air, and Thomas knew that anyone with half a tracker’s sense could follow if they wanted to badly enough.

Eliza didn’t complain, though he could see the strain in her face, the way she held herself rigid in the saddle, the white- knuckled grip on the res.

Every jolt sent pain through her healing ribs, but she kept pace without a word of protest.

When they finally stopped to rest the horses near a stand of cottonwoods, Eliza dismounted in one smooth motion, and immediately bent double, hands on her knees, breathing hard.

“You all right?” Thomas asked, offering his canteen.

She took it and drank deeply before answering.

Fine, just need a minute.

We can rest longer if you need to.

No, she straightened, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

The longer we wait, the more time we give them to find our trail.

I can manage.

Thomas studied her for a moment, seeing the truth beneath the brave words.

She was hurting badly, but she was also right.

They couldn’t afford to linger.

Sacramento’s 3 days ride from here if we push it, he said, pulling out the rough map he’d sketched based on memory and conversations with other ranchers.

But we’ll need to be careful once we get close to the city.

That’s where Ror’s influence will be strongest.

Eliza nodded, coming to stand beside him and look at the map.

We should approach from the east through the neighborhoods near the river.

That’s where the boarding house is, Mrs.

Chen’s place.

It’s in a part of town the wealthy folks don’t pay much attention to.

Working people, immigrants, anyone trying to make an honest living without much to show for it.

And Ror’s men, will they be watching it? Maybe.

Probably.

Eliza’s jaw tightened.

But I don’t have a choice.

The evidence is there, hidden in a loose board under the stairs in the basement.

I checked it three times before I ran.

Made sure no one could find it by accident.

If it’s still there, it will be.

Thomas said with more confidence than he felt.

We’ll get it and then we’ll find someone who can use it.

Adah’s cousin, this Mara Winslow.

You think she can help? I don’t know.

I’ve never met her.

But if Ada trusts her, that’s enough for me.

Eliza folded the map carefully and handed it back.

Thomas, when we get there, if things go wrong, if Ror’s men find us, you run.

Don’t try to fight them all.

Just run and save yourself.

Not a chance.

I’m serious.

This is my fight, not yours.

You’ve already done more than anyone had a right to ask.

I won’t let you die for me.

Thomas met her eyes, his expression unyielding.

Then don’t give me a reason to.

Stay close.

Stay smart, and we’ll both walk out of this alive.

” Eliza looked like she wanted to argue, but something in his tone stopped her.

Instead, she nodded once, sharp and final, and moved to check her horse’s saddle.

They rode on as the sun climbed higher, the heat building until it felt like riding through an oven.

Thomas led them through a series of small towns, places barely big enough to have names, just a general store and a saloon and a scattering of houses.

They stopped only once to buy grain for the horses and refill their water, and Thomas paid in cash without offering names or conversation.

The store owner barely looked at them, too busy with his ledger to care about two dusty travelers passing through.

That night they made camp in a rocky outcrop that offered shelter from three sides and a clear view of anyone approaching from the fourth.

Thomas built a small fire just enough to heat coffee and warm the beans Ada had packed and they ate in silence while the stars came out one by one.

“Tell me about the ranch,” Eliza said suddenly breaking the quiet.

She was sitting with her back against a boulder, her hands wrapped around a tin cup of coffee.

“How long have you had it?” Thomas poked at the fire with a stick, watching the embers flare and die.

15 years, give or take.

Bought the land cheap after the war.

No one wanted it.

Too rocky, too dry, too far from anywhere that mattered.

But I didn’t need much.

Just space and silence.

You were a soldier for a while.

Cavalry mostly.

Spent 3 years riding through places I’d rather forget, doing things I wish I hadn’t.

He paused, then added quietly.

When it was over, I couldn’t go back to who I’d been before.

Couldn’t pretend the world was the same place, so I came west and started building something new.

Eliza was quiet for a moment, absorbing that.

Did it help starting over? Eventually, took a long time, though, and I had help.

Ada mostly.

She saw me at my worst and didn’t flinch.

Just put me to work and let me heal in my own time.

Thomas looked up at her.

What about you? Where are you from? Sacramento originally.

My parents ran a small bookshop near the river.

They died when I was 17.

Kalera took half the neighborhood that year.

I kept the shop going for a while, but I wasn’t good at it like they were.

Eventually, I had to sell and I took the job at the bank because it was steady work and I needed to survive.

She smiled, bitter and sad.

I thought if I worked hard enough, kept my head down, followed the rules, I’d be safe.

Turns out the world doesn’t care how hard you work if someone powerful decides you’re in the way.

It should, Thomas said.

And maybe after this it will, at least for you.

Maybe.

Eliza didn’t sound convinced.

She set down her cup and wrapped her arms around her knees, staring into the fire.

I keep thinking about Marcus Hulcom, about how he looked the last time I saw him alive.

He wasn’t a good man.

He was stealing, lying, helping Ror rob people who trusted the bank.

But he didn’t deserve to die like that.

And now I’m the only one left who knows the truth.

And if I can’t prove it, if we can’t find that evidence, then he’ll just be another forgotten name and I’ll be the villain in a story I didn’t write.

We’ll find it, Thomas said firmly.

And we’ll make sure people know what really happened.

Eliza looked at him, her eyes dark in the fire light.

You believe that? Even now when we’re riding straight into the lion’s den, I have to believe it.

Otherwise, none of this means anything.

” She held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded slowly.

“All right, then I’ll believe it, too.

” They took turns keeping watch that night, and when it was Thomas’s turn, he sat with his rifle across his knees and listened to the desert breathe around him.

Coyotes called in the distance, their yips echoing off the rocks, and somewhere an owl hunted on silent wings.

Eliza slept fitfully, twitching and murmuring in her sleep, and twice Thomas heard her cry out softly before falling silent again.

He wondered what she was dreaming about, wondered if she saw Ror’s men in her nightmares, or the desert where they’d left her to die, or the moment she’d realized no one was coming to save her.

When dawn came, pale and hesitant, Thomas woke her gently, and they broke camp without speaking.

The second day’s ride was harder than the first.

The terrain grew rougher, the heat more oppressive, and Eliza’s strength was clearly flagging, but she never asked to stop, never showed weakness, except in the tightness around her eyes and the careful way she moved.

They saw other travelers that day, a family in a covered wagon heading west.

The father’s face grim and hopeful in equal measure.

A pair of prospectors leading pack mules laden with equipment, talking loudly about a strike they were sure would make them rich.

A circuit preacher on a tired mule, his black coat dusty and his Bible clutched like a weapon.

None of them paid Thomas and Eliza any mind.

Just two more people moving through the landscape, anonymous and unremarkable.

But that changed on the third day.

They were less than 10 mi from Sacramento, following a road that ran parallel to the river when Thomas spotted the dust cloud behind them.

He rained in and turned to look, shading his eyes against the afternoon sun and felt his stomach drop.

Three riders moving fast and closing the distance.

“Eliza,” he said quietly, and something in his tone made her turn immediately.

She saw the writers and went pale.

“It’s them.

It has to be.

Maybe just travelers.

No.

Her voice was sharp with certainty.

Look at the way they’re riding.

They’re not just traveling.

They’re hunting.

Thomas cursed under his breath and scanned the road ahead.

They were in open country here.

No cover except for scattered scrub and the occasional boulder.

If they tried to run, the riders would run them down within minutes.

But if they stood and fought three against two, and one of those two barely healed from a beating, the odds weren’t good.

“The river,” Eliza said suddenly, pointing to where the water glinted through a break in the trees.

“If we can reach it, we can lose them in the shallows.

They won’t be able to track us through water.

” “It was a desperate plan, but Thomas couldn’t think of a better one.

Go now.

” They spurred their horses forward, leaving the road and plunging down the embankment toward the river.

Behind them, a shout went up.

The riders had spotted them breaking away and were giving chase.

Thomas risked a glance back and saw them clearly now.

Three men, hard-faced and armed, one of them pointing in their direction and yelling something Thomas couldn’t hear over the pounding of hooves.

The river appeared ahead, brown and swift with snow melt from the mountains.

Thomas hit the water first, the cold shocking after days of desert heat, and his horse boalked for a second before plunging in.

Eliza followed, and they pushed upstream, the current fighting them with every step.

“Keep going!” Thomas shouted over the rush of water.

“Don’t stop.

” Behind them, the riders reached the riverbank and paused, their horses dancing nervously at the water’s edge.

One of them, a big man with a scarred face that made Thomas’s blood run cold, raised a rifle and fired.

The shot went wide, kicking up a spray of water 10 ft to their left.

Thomas heard Eliza gasp and urged his horse faster, angling toward the far bank, where a tangle of willows offered cover.

Another shot.

This one closer, close enough that Thomas felt the wind of its passing.

They reached the willows and crashed through, branches whipping at their faces and tearing at their clothes.

Thomas didn’t slow down until they were deep in the thicket, the river hidden behind a wall of green.

“Off the horses,” he commanded, swinging down.

“We go on foot from here.

” Eliza dismounted, and they led the horses deeper into the undergrowth, moving as quietly as possible.

Behind them, Thomas could hear the riders entering the water, their voices carrying over the sound of the current.

spread out.

They can’t have gone far.

Forget the horses.

Find the woman.

Ror wants her alive.

Thomas and Eliza exchanged a look.

Alive.

That was something.

At least it meant they wouldn’t shoot to kill.

Not at first.

They moved through the willows like ghosts, using every trick Thomas had learned during the war.

Step on solid ground, not loose dirt.

Avoid breaking branches.

Breathe shallow and quiet.

Liza followed his lead without question.

Her face set in grim concentration.

The voices of the riders grew louder, then faded, then grew loud again as the men quartered the area.

Thomas could hear them crashing through the brush, cursing when the thorns caught their clothes, calling to each other in frustration.

“She’s here somewhere.

Keep looking.

” Thomas led Eliza to a dense thicket of blackberry brambles and gestured for her to crawl inside.

She hesitated.

The thorns were vicious.

the space barely big enough for one person, let alone two.

But Thomas gave her a look that borked no argument.

“Get in.

Stay quiet.

Don’t move until I come back.

” “Where are you going?” she whispered, fear sharp in her eyes.

“To draw them away.

If they’re chasing me, they’re not looking for you.

” “Thomas, no.

” But he was already moving, slipping away through the trees before she could stop him.

He heard her call his name once softly, and then silence.

Thomas circled wide, putting distance between himself and Eliza’s hiding place, and then deliberately stepped on a dry branch.

It snapped with a crack that echoed through the stillness.

Immediately, one of the riders shouted, “Over there! I heard something.

” Thomas ran, making just enough noise to be followed, but not so much that he seemed like he was trying to be caught.

He led them away from the river, away from Eliza, deeper into the wild country where he had the advantage.

Behind him, the riders crashed through the undergrowth like angry bears, too focused on the chase to realize they were being led.

Thomas ran for 10 minutes, maybe 15, until his lungs burned and his legs achd.

Then he found what he was looking for, a rocky outcrop with a narrow gap between two boulders, just wide enough for a man to slip through, but too tight for horses.

He squeezed into the gap and kept going, emerging on the other side into a small clearing.

The riders were close now.

So close he could hear them breathing hard, cursing as their horses boalked at the rocks.

He went through there.

Then get off your horse and follow him, you idiot.

Thomas didn’t wait to hear more.

He sprinted across the clearing and into the trees on the far side, using every ounce of speed he had left.

Behind him, he heard boots hitting the ground as at least two of the men dismounted to give chase on foot.

Good.

That evened the odds a little.

Thomas ran until he found a fallen log, massive and rotting, and dove behind it.

He pulled his rifle around and cighted down the barrel, waiting as the footsteps grew closer.

The first man appeared, young, maybe 25, with a patchy beard and wild eyes.

He was holding a pistol and scanning the trees, breathing hard.

“Come out!” he yelled.

“We know you’re here.

” Thomas stayed perfectly still, barely breathing.

The second man appeared beside the first, older, leaner, with a face like a hatchet, spread out.

He can’t have gone far.

They moved forward, cautious now, their guns raised.

Thomas waited until they were 10 ft away, then stood up in one smooth motion and fired a shot into the air.

The younger man yelped and dove for cover.

The older one spun toward Thomas, raising his pistol, but Thomas was already moving, ducking behind the log and running in a new direction, back toward where he’d left the horses.

More shots rang out, wild and panicked.

None of them came close.

Thomas ran until he couldn’t hear pursuit anymore, then slowed to a jog, then a walk.

His heart was hammering and his hands were shaking, adrenaline flooding his system in waves.

But he’d done it.

He’d led them away from Eliza.

Now he just had to get back to her before they realized they’d been played.

He circled back through the wilderness, moving carefully now, listening for any sign of the riders.

It took him nearly an hour to reach the river again, and by then the sun was sinking toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of amber and rose.

He found the blackberry thicket and called softly, “Eliza, it’s me.

You can come out.

” For a long moment there was nothing.

Then the brambles rustled, and Eliza emerged, scratched and bleeding from a dozen small cuts, her dress torn, and her hair wild, but she was whole and unheard otherwise.

She looked at Thomas, took in his disheveled appearance and the rifle still in his hands, and her face crumpled with relief.

“You came back?” she whispered.

“Of course I came back.

” Thomas reached out and gently pulled a thorn from her hair.

“You all right?” I heard shooting.

I thought she stopped, her breath hitching.

I thought they’d killed you.

Takes more than three hired guns to put me down, Thomas said, trying for lightness and not quite succeeding.

Come on, we need to keep moving.

They’ll regroup and start searching again once they realize I gave them the slip.

They found the horses where they’d left them, still hidden in the willows and mounted up.

Thomas led them away from the river this time, cutting north through farmland and orchards, where the trees provided cover, and the smell of ripening fruit hung heavy in the air.

They rode until full dark, then made a cold camp in an abandoned barn that smelled of hay and mice.

No fire, no hot food, just jerky and water, and the horses tied loosely in case they needed to leave in a hurry.

Eliza sat with her back against a wall, her knees drawn up to her chest, and stared at nothing.

Thomas could see her trembling, delayed shock maybe, or just exhaustion catching up.

“They knew we were coming,” she said finally, her voice hollow.

“Rork knew.

” “Maybe.

Or maybe they’ve just been watching every road into Sacramento, waiting for you to show up.

” Thomas sat down beside her, close enough that their shoulders almost touched.

Either way, it doesn’t change what we have to do.

Yes, it does.

It means walking into the city is suicide.

They’ll be watching every entry point, every street that leads to Mrs.

Chen’s boarding house.

We’ll never make it.

Then we don’t walk in the front door, Thomas said.

We find another way.

Sneak in after dark.

Stay in the shadows.

Move fast.

You know the city better than they think you do.

Use that.

Eliza turned to look at him, and in the dim light filtering through the barn’s gaps, he could see the fear in her eyes.

Not just of dying, but of failing, of coming so close and losing everything.

“What if the evidence isn’t there?” she whispered.

“What if Ror already found it?” “Then we’ll find another way to prove your innocence.

But we won’t know until we look.

” She closed her eyes, and a single tear slid down her cheek.

Thomas reached out hesitantly and wiped it away with his thumb.

I’m scared,” she admitted.

“I know.

So am I.

But we’re still here and we’re still fighting.

That counts for something.

” Eliza opened her eyes and looked at him.

Really? Looked at him, seeing past the rough exterior and the careful distance he usually kept.

Why are you doing this, Thomas? And don’t tell me it’s because it’s the right thing to do.

There has to be more than that.

Thomas was quiet for a long time, searching for words that felt true.

I spent three years of my life watching people die for reasons that didn’t matter.

Politics and pride and men playing games with other people’s lives.

And when it was over, I swore I’d never be part of that again.

Never stand by and do nothing while someone suffered because it was easier than getting involved.

He paused.

You were dying in that desert because powerful men decided you were inconvenient.

And I couldn’t I won’t let that stand.

Not while I can still do something about it.

Even if it cost you everything.

Even then.

Eliza stared at him for a long moment, and something shifted in her expression.

The fear didn’t disappear, but it was joined by something else.

Determination, maybe, or hope.

All right, she said softly.

Then, let’s finish this.

They slept in shifts again that night, and when dawn came, they were already moving.

Sacramento rose ahead of them like a promise and a threat, its buildings visible on the horizon.

Smoke from a thousand chimneys smudging the sky.

Thomas led them to the outskirts and stopped, studying the city from a distance.

It sprawled along the river, warehouses and docks on the waterfront, fine houses on the hills beyond, and in between the tangled streets where most people lived and worked.

Mrs.

Chen’s boarding house, Eliza said, pointing, three blocks in from the river near the Chinese quarter.

If we come in from the east through the alleys behind theies, we can avoid the main streets.

And Ror’s men, they’ll be concentrated around the nicer parts of town.

That’s where Ror has his office, where the bank is.

They might have someone watching the boarding house, but they can’t cover every building in the city.

It was thin reasoning, but it was all they had.

Thomas nodded.

Then that’s what we’ll do.

We go in after dark, get the evidence, and get out fast and quiet.

They spent the day hidden in a grove of eucalyptus trees, resting and waiting for night to fall.

Eliza cleaned and checked the revolver Thomas had given her, her movements careful and precise, while Thomas sharpened his knife and mentally rehearsed the plan.

When the sun finally set, and the city lights began to flicker on one by one, they mounted up and rode toward Sacramento.

The outskirts were quiet.

Just a few workers heading home late.

A drunk stumbling out of a saloon.

A woman hanging laundry in the fading light.

No one paid them any attention as they slipped into the maze of alleys that ran behind the main streets.

Eliza guided them with quiet confidence, navigating the narrow passages like she’d walked them a thousand times.

They passed the backs of shops and homes, smelling cooking fires and hearing fragments of conversation in a dozen different languages.

Finally, Eliza raised a hand and they stopped.

“There,” she whispered, pointing to a narrow three-story building with peeling paint and a crooked sign that read Chen’s boarding house in faded letters.

Thomas scanned the street.

No obvious watchers, no suspicious figures loitering in doorways.

But that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

“I’ll go in alone,” Eliza said.

“If someone’s watching, they’re looking for a woman.

If they see me with you, they’ll know I have help.

” Absolutely not.

We go in together or not at all? Thomas? No arguments.

We’re exposed out here and I’m not letting you walk into a trap by yourself.

He dismounted and tied his horse to a post.

Come on, let’s get this done.

Eliza hesitated, then nodded and followed him to the boarding house’s back entrance.

The door was unlocked, and they slipped inside into a dim hallway that smelled of cabbage and lie soap.

The boarding house was quiet.

Most of the residents already asleep were out for the evening.

Eliza led Thomas to a narrow staircase that descended into darkness.

And at the bottom they found themselves in a cellar crowded with storage.

Crates, barrels, old furniture covered in dust.

“Over here,” Eliza whispered, moving to the far corner where the stairs met the wall.

She knelt and ran her fingers along the baseboard until she found what she was looking for.

A loose board that came away with a soft creek.

Behind it was a hollow space, and inside the hollow was a leather portfolio tied with string.

Eliza pulled it out with shaking hands, untied the string, and opened it.

Inside were dozens of pages covered in neat handwriting, copies of ledgers, transaction records, names and dates, and amounts that told a story of systematic theft.

“It’s here,” she breathed.

“It’s all here.

” Thomas felt a surge of relief so strong it nearly buckled his knees.

Then let a board creaked above them.

They both froze, looking up at the ceiling.

Footsteps, slow and deliberate, crossing the floor overhead.

Then a voice, cold and cultured, drifted down through the floorboards.

I was wondering when you’d show up, Miss Caldwell.

Eliza’s face went white.

Ror, she whispered.

The footsteps moved toward the staircase, and Thomas heard the unmistakable click of a gun being cocked.

You’ve led me on quite a chase, Gideon Ror continued, his voice growing louder as he descended the stairs.

But I’m afraid this is where it ends.

You have something that belongs to me, and I intend to take it back, along with your life, of course.

Can’t have witnesses.

Thomas grabbed Eliza’s arm and pulled her behind a stack of crates, pressing a finger to his lips.

His mind raced, searching for options.

They were trapped.

One exit and worked between them and freedom.

Ror reached the bottom of the stairs and Thomas caught a glimpse of him through a gap in the crates.

Tall, well-dressed, with dark hair going gray at the temples and eyes like chips of ice.

He held a pistol loosely in one hand, supremely confident.

I know you’re down here, Ror said pleasantly.

And I know you’re not alone.

The man who helped you escape my people in the desert, perhaps.

How touching.

But it won’t save you.

Thomas metalized his eyes and saw his own desperation reflected there.

Then he made a decision.

He stood up, stepping out from behind the crates with his hands raised and his rifle left behind.

“Looking for me,” he said.

Ror turned, his pistol swinging around to point at Thomas’s chest.

A smile ghosted across his face, cold and utterly without humor.

“There you are.

And where might I ask is Miss Caldwell?” “Gone,” Thomas lied.

ran out the back while you were making your speech.

You’re too late.

Ror’s eyes narrowed.

I don’t believe you.

Believe what you want.

She’s not here.

For a long moment, they stood frozen.

Two men sizing each other up across 10 ft of dusty cellar.

Then Ror’s smile widened.

No matter.

I’ll find her, and when I do, she’ll die just like Marcus Hulcom died quickly and without anyone caring.

He raised the pistol, aiming between Thomas’s eyes.

But first, I think I’ll deal with you.

Can’t have heroes running around, ruining my The shot came from behind the crates, loud as thunder in the confined space.

Ror’s pistol flew from his hand, struck by Eliza’s bullet, and he stumbled back with a cry of pain and shock.

Thomas didn’t hesitate.

He lunged forward, crashing into Ror and driving him against the wall.

They grappled, Ror stronger than his refined appearance suggested, and Thomas felt a fist connect with his jaw hard enough to make his vision blur.

But Thomas had spent years fighting for his life, and Ror was just a man used to other people doing his violence for him.

Thomas drove his knee into Ror’s stomach, and when the man doubled over, Thomas brought his elbow down on the back of Ror’s neck.

Ror collapsed, gasping for air, and Thomas grabbed him by the collar and hauled him upright.

“Aliza!” Thomas shouted.

Hatfro, get the portfolio and run.

But Eliza was already moving, the leather case clutched to her chest and the revolver still in her hand.

She ran for the stairs and stopped cold.

Two more men stood at the top, silhouetted against the light from the hallway above.

The scarred man from the river and another Thomas didn’t recognize.

“Going somewhere?” the scarred man asked, descending slowly.

“They were trapped.

Ror behind them, his men ahead and no way out.

Thomas felt Ror start to laugh beneath his hands, a low, triumphant sound that made Thomas’s blood run cold.

“I told you this is where it ends,” Ror rasped.

“You should have listened.

” Thomas’s grip tightened on Ror’s collar as the two men descended the stairs, their boots heavy on the worn wood.

The scarred man’s eyes gleamed with something darker than mere duty.

“This was personal for him,” Thomas realized.

This was the man who’d beaten Eliza and left her to die.

And now he had a chance to finish what he’d started.

“Let him go,” the scarred man said, his voice like gravel scraping stone.

“Step away from Mr.

Ror, and maybe we’ll make this quick.

” Thomas didn’t move.

His mind was racing, cataloging everything in the cellar that could be used as a weapon or an escape route.

The crates behind them were too heavy to move quickly.

The small window near the ceiling was barred with iron.

The only exit was the staircase, and Ror’s men blocked it completely.

Eliza stood frozen halfway between Thomas and the stairs, the portfolio pressed against her chest like armor, and the revolver trembling in her other hand, her eyes met Thomas’s, and in that split second they had an entire conversation without words.

She was asking him what to do, asking if this was the end.

Thomas gave the smallest shake of his head.

Not yet.

Not while they were still breathing.

“You want him?” Thomas called out, his voice steady despite the thundering of his heart.

“Come take him,” he shoved Ror forward violently, sending the man stumbling toward his own hired guns.

Ror crashed into the scarred man, and in the chaos of tangled limbs and cursing, Thomas grabbed Eliza’s arm and yanked her behind the stack of crates.

“The window,” he hissed, pointing to the barred opening near the ceiling.

Can you fit through those bars? They’re iron.

Can you fit? Eliza looked, her face pale but determined.

Maybe if I A gunshot exploded through the cellar, the bullet punching through the crate inches from Thomas’s head and showering them with splinters.

Thomas grabbed his rifle from where he’d left it and returned fire blindly, not aiming to hit, but to buy them seconds.

“Go!” he shouted at Eliza.

“Now!” She scrambled up onto a barrel and reached for the window bars, testing them with desperate hands.

They were old, set in crumbling mortar, and when she pulled hard, one of them shifted slightly in its socket.

Another shot, this one from a different angle.

Thomas fired back and heard someone curse, which meant he’d gotten close.

The cellar was filling with guns, thick and acrid, making it hard to see more than shadows and movement.

Thomas.

Eliza’s voice was strained with effort.

I can’t.

The bars won’t.

Thomas left his cover and vaulted up beside her, adding his strength to hers.

Together, they pulled on the loose bar, and the old mortar cracked and crumbled.

The bar came free with a shriek of protesting metal, leaving a gap just wide enough for a person to squeeze through.

“You first,” Thomas said, lacing his fingers together to give her a boost.

“What about you?” “I’ll be right behind you.

Go.

” Eliza hesitated for only a heartbeat, then stepped into his cupped hands and let him lift her toward the window.

She grabbed the remaining bars and pulled herself up with a strength Thomas hadn’t known she possessed, her body squeezing through the narrow gap with the portfolio still clutched against her ribs.

For a terrible second, she stuck, her shoulders too wide, and Thomas thought they were finished.

But then she twisted, exhaling completely, and slithered through like water through a sie.

She disappeared into the darkness beyond, and Thomas heard her hit the ground outside with a muffled grunt.

A hand grabbed Thomas’s shoulder and spun him around.

The scarred man, his face twisted with rage, drove a fist into Thomas’s stomach hard enough to drive the air from his lungs.

Thomas doubled over, gasping, and the man followed up with a knee aimed at his face.

Thomas managed to catch the knee and twist, sending the scarred man stumbling backward into the second hired gun.

They went down in a tangle, and Thomas didn’t wait to see them recover.

He grabbed the edge of the window and pulled himself up, his shoulders screaming in protest as he forced his body through the gap.

Something caught his boot, a hand, grabbing tight, and Thomas kicked back hard.

He felt his heel connect with flesh and bone, heard a satisfying crack, and the grip released.

He wriggled the rest of the way through the window and dropped into the alley beyond, landing in a crouch next to where Eliza was waiting.

Run!” he gasped, and they ran.

Behind them, Ror’s voice echoed up from the cellar, high and furious.

After them, don’t let them escape.

Thomas and Eliza sprinted through the alley, their boots splashing through puddles of dubious origin.

The sounds of pursuit already rising behind them.

The narrow passage twisted and turned, opening onto a wider street crowded with evening traffic, workers heading home, merchants closing their shops, children playing in the fading light.

This way, Eliza panted, ducking left into another alley.

Thomas followed, trusting her knowledge of the city’s veins and arteries.

They ran for what felt like hours, but was probably only minutes, putting as much distance as they could between themselves and the boarding house.

Finally, Eliza stumbled to a halt in a narrow court between two warehouses, pressing her hand against her side where her ribs were clearly protesting the abuse.

Thomas scanned the shadows, listening for footsteps, for shouts, for any sign they’d been followed.

The city noise surrounded them, distant laughter, the clatter of a wagon, someone singing off key, but nothing close, nothing immediate.

“We need to get off the streets,” he said quietly.

Ror will have men searching everywhere now that he knows we have the evidence.

Eliza nodded, still catching her breath.

There’s a place.

Adah’s cousin, Mara Winslow.

She runs a small clinic near the Chinese quarter.

If we can reach her, can you find it from here? I think so.

It’s not far, maybe 10 blocks north.

Eliza straightened, wincing but determined.

But Thomas, even if we reach her, then what? We have the evidence.

But who can we give it to? Ror has the police in his pocket.

Probably the city marshal, too.

Anyone official we approach will just hand us over to him.

Thomas pulled the portfolio from where Eliza still clutched it and opened it, scanning the pages inside.

Neat columns of numbers, names, dates, all of it damning if anyone bothered to look.

But Eliza was right.

In a city where Ror’s money bought cooperation and silence, simply having proof wasn’t enough.

Ada said her cousin knows people, Thomas said slowly.

People with influence.

Maybe she knows someone honest, someone who can’t be bought.

That’s a lot of may.

You have a better idea? Eliza shook her head and Thomas saw the exhaustion creeping into her features.

Not just physical, but emotional.

She’d been running for so long, fighting for so long.

And now that they actually had what they’d come for, the enormity of what still lay ahead was settling on her shoulders like a physical weight.

Thomas reached out and squeezed her hand briefly.

One step at a time.

First, we find Mara Winslow.

Then we figure out the rest.

Eliza’s fingers tightened around his for just a moment before she let go.

All right, follow me.

She led them through Sacramento’s back streets with the careful navigation of someone who’d once called this city home.

They avoided the main thorough affairs where gas lights illuminated everything and everyone, instead keeping to the darker lanes where people minded their own business and strangers were invisible.

Twice they had to hide.

Once when a group of rough-l lookinging men passed too close, their voices loud with drink and violence.

And once when Thomas spotted what might have been one of Ror’s hired guns checking faces on a street corner, but they made it through undetected.

And finally, Eliza stopped in front of a narrow building wedged between a laundry and a herb shop.

A small wooden sign hung above the door.

Windslow Clinic.

All welcome.

“This is it,” Eliza whispered.

Thomas tried the door and found it unlocked.

They slipped inside into a small waiting room lit by a single oil lamp.

The space was clean but worn with mismatched chairs lined against one wall and shelves holding neat rows of bottles and medical supplies.

A faint smell of carbolic and herbs hung in the air.

A woman appeared in the doorway to the back room, maybe 40, with dark hair pinned severely back and sharp eyes that took in every detail of her unexpected visitors.

She wore a simple dress with the sleeves rolled up and an apron marked with old stains that might have been blood.

We’re closed,” she said, her voice firm but not unkind.

“Come back in the morning if you need.

” She stopped, her eyes widening as she got a better look at Eliza’s face.

Recognition flickered across her features, followed quickly by alarm.

“You’re her,” she said flatly.

The woman from the wanted posters, the one who killed the banker.

Thomas stepped between them instinctively, his hand moving toward the knife at his belt.

We’re not here to cause trouble.

Then why are you here at all? Do you know what happens if someone finds out I’m harboring a fugitive? But even as she spoke, Mara Winslow was moving forward, her professional instincts overriding her caution.

She took Eliza’s chin gently and turned her head to examine the fading bruises, the still healing cut along her hairline.

“Who did this to you?” “The same men who are trying to kill me now,” Eliza said quietly.

“Miss Winslow.

” “Mrs.

Winslow, but call me Mara.

She released Eliza and stepped back, crossing her arms.

I assume you’re not here for medical attention.

Ada Holloway sent us, Thomas said.

She said, “You might be able to help.

” Something shifted in Mara’s expression at Ada’s name.

Surprise, followed by a complicated mix of emotions.

Thomas couldn’t quite read.

“Ada sent you? How is the old dragon?” “Alive and ornery as ever,” Thomas replied.

and despite everything, he found himself almost smiling.

She gave us a letter of introduction, but we lost it when, well, it’s been a complicated few days.

Mara studied them both for a long moment, her gaze moving from Thomas’s battered face to the portfolio Eliza still held to the desperate hope barely concealed in both their expressions.

Finally, she sighed and moved to lock the clinic’s front door, pulling down a shade over the window.

“Come into the back,” she said, “and you’d better tell me everything.

They followed her into a small examination room that also served as her personal space.

A narrow bed in one corner, a table and chairs, a stove where a kettle was just beginning to steam.

Mara poured three cups of tea with the efficiency of someone who’d done it a thousand times, and gestured for them to sit.

Thomas remained standing, too wired to relax.

But Eliza sank into a chair gratefully.

She set the portfolio on the table and began to talk.

She told Mara everything.

The embezzlement she’d discovered Marcus Hulcom’s murder, the frame up, the beating in the desert, Thomas finding her on the trail.

She spoke in a flat, exhausted voice that somehow made the horror of it all more vivid.

And when she was done, she opened the portfolio and spread the evidence across the table like a challenge.

Mara examined the documents in silence, her expression growing darker with each page.

When she finished, she sat back and stared at the ceiling for a long moment.

“Gideon Ror,” she said finally.

“I’ve heard the name.

Everyone has.

He’s got connections everywhere.

The mayor’s office, the police, half the merchants in the city.

If he wants you dead, there aren’t many places you can hide.

” “We’re not interested in hiding anymore,” Thomas said.

“We need someone who can use this evidence, someone Ror doesn’t own.

” “That’s a very short list,” Mara said dryly.

But there might be one person, a newspaper man named Caleb Winslow, my brother.

He runs a small paper that prints actual news instead of whatever the advertisers pay him to say.

He’s been trying to expose corruption in the city for years, but he’s never had proof solid enough to print without getting sued into oblivion.

She tapped the documents.

This would change that.

Hope flared in Eliza’s eyes.

Would he help us? Help you? He’d probably kiss you, but getting these documents to him is the problem.

Caleb’s office is on the other side of the city in a building.

Ror’s men will definitely be watching once word gets out that you escaped.

Mara paused, thinking.

We’d need a distraction, something to draw their attention away long enough for you to slip through.

What kind of distraction? Thomas asked.

Mara smiled, and there was something fierce in it.

The kind that involves a lot of chaos and very poor decision-making.

But first, you two need rest.

You look like you’re about to collapse, and we can’t do anything until morning anyway.

Caleb doesn’t open his office until 8.

We don’t have time to rest, Eliza protested.

Every hour we wait is an hour you use to heal and plan instead of stumbling around making mistakes that get you killed, Mara interrupted.

Trust me, I’ve seen enough people push themselves past their limits to know where that road leads.

Sleep now, fight later.

Thomas saw the wisdom in it, even as his instincts screamed to keep moving.

But Mara was right.

They were both running on fumes and adrenaline, and sooner or later, that would run out at exactly the wrong moment.

“4 hours,” he said.

“We rest for 4 hours, and then we move whether we’re ready or not.

” Mara nodded.

“Fair enough.

You can use my bed, both of you.

I’ll keep watch and wake you when it’s time.

” Eliza started to protest, but Thomas was already guiding her toward the bed.

She was asleep almost before her head hit the pillow, her body finally surrendering to the exhaustion it had been fighting for days.

Thomas sat in the chair beside the bed, intending to keep watch despite Mara’s offer.

But his own fatigue caught up with him.

The last thing he remembered was Mara draping a blanket over his shoulders and the sound of her moving quietly around the room, preparing for whatever came next.

He woke to Mara, shaking his shoulder gently.

It’s time and we have a problem.

Thomas was instantly alert, his hand going to his knife before his eyes were fully open.

What kind of problem? The kind with wanted posters.

Mara handed him a piece of paper, freshly printed and still smelling of ink.

Thomas looked at it and felt his stomach drop.

It was a poster offering $1,000 for information leading to Eliza’s capture.

But there was a second poster attached beneath it.

This one showed a crude but recognizable sketch of Thomas himself offering $500 for the man aiding and abetting the fugitive Eliza Caldwell.

How did they? Someone at the boarding house must have seen you, Mara said grimly.

Or Ror got a description from his men.

Either way, half the city is going to be looking for both of you by noon.

We need to move now.

Eliza was already awake, studying the posters with an expression that was equal parts fear and fury.

We should split up if they’re looking for a man and a woman together.

No, Thomas and Mara said simultaneously.

You’re stronger together, Mara continued.

And besides, my brother’s office is in a part of town where strangers stand out.

You’ll need each other to blend in as a couple.

Maybe workers going to the docks or im immigrants looking for housing.

Separately, you’re suspicious.

Together, you’re invisible.

It made sense, even though Thomas hated the risk.

What about this distraction you mentioned? Mara’s smile was all teeth.

Already arranged.

I sent word to some friends, people who owe me favors, people who have their own reasons to dislike Gideon Ror.

At 9:00 this morning, there’s going to be a fire in a warehouse on the south side of town.

Nothing dangerous, just enough smoke and confusion to pull the police and Ror’s hired guns in that direction.

While they’re dealing with that, you’ll approach Caleb’s office from the north.

You set a building on fire for us? Eliza asked somewhere between horrified and odd.

An empty building scheduled for demolition anyway, Mara clarified.

And it’s not for you.

It’s because I’m tired of men like Ror turning this city into their personal kingdom while good people suffer.

Your evidence gives us a chance to change that.

I’m not about to let it slip through our fingers.

She pulled out a rough map of the city and spread it on the table, marking their route with quick strokes.

You’ll go through the textile district here, cut across the railard, and come up behind Caleb’s building through the alley.

I’ll go ahead and warn him you’re coming.

Once you hand over the documents, he’ll need a few hours to duplicate everything and write the story.

After that, After that, we need to make sure the story actually gets printed and distributed before Ror can stop it.

Thomas finished.

How do we do that? Caleb has contacts at three other papers in the city.

If he can get the story to all of them simultaneously, Ror can’t suppress it without making himself look even more guilty.

But getting those copies delivered safely is going to be the dangerous part.

Everything about this is dangerous, Eliza said quietly.

But we’ve come too far to stop now.

Mara looked at her with something like respect.

Ada said you were brave.

She didn’t mention you were stubborn, too.

runs in the family,” Eliza replied, and there was the ghost of a smile on her lips.

They prepared quickly and efficiently.

Mara gave them workers clothes to replace their dusty, torn outfits, a rough cotton dress for Eliza, and a laborer’s shirt and trousers for Thomas.

She packed the portfolio into a canvas bag that looked like it might contain tools or lunch, and she gave Thomas a cap to pull low over his eyes.

“Keep your heads down.

Don’t make eye contact.

And for the love of everything holy, don’t run unless you absolutely have to, she instructed.

Running makes you memorable.

Walk like you belong there, and people will see what they expect to see.

At 8:30, Mara opened the clinic’s back door and checked the alley beyond.

Clear.

She handed Thomas the bag with the portfolio and clasped Eliza’s hands briefly.

“Be careful,” she said, “and tell my brother that if he doesn’t use this evidence to bury Ror, I’ll make his life miserable.

” Thank you, Eliza whispered, for everything.

Mara waved that away.

Thank me when this is over and you’re both still alive.

Now go.

They slipped into the alley and began walking, Thomas’s hand resting lightly on Eliza’s back in a gesture that looked protective, but also kept them connected in the crowd.

The morning streets were already filling with people.

Workers heading to the mills and factories, vendors setting up stalls, children running errands before school.

Thomas and Eliza moved through it all like ghosts, just another couple in a city full of thousands.

They crossed the textile district, where the air was thick with lint and the clatter of looms, navigated the railyard, where men were already loading freight cars with timber and grain, and finally entered the warn of narrow streets that led to the newspaper district.

As they approached Caleb Winslow’s building, a narrow three-story structure that leaned slightly to one side, Thomas noticed the man standing across the street.

He was trying to look casual, leaning against a lampost and smoking a cigarette, but his eyes were constantly moving, watching everyone who approached the building.

One of Ror’s men.

Thomas squeezed Eliza’s arm in warning and steered her past the building without stopping, turning down a side street as if they had always intended to go that way.

Once they were around the corner, he pulled her into a doorway.

“They’re watching the front,” he said quietly.

“We’ll have to find another way in.

” “The alley,” Eliza said.

Mara said to come in through the alley.

They circled around, moving carefully, and found the alley that ran behind the row of buildings.

It was narrow and dark, piled with crates and refues, but it was empty.

Thomas counted buildings until he found the one that should be Caleb’s office and tried the back door.

Locked.

He was about to try forcing it when the door opened from the inside.

A man stood there, middle-aged, inkstained, with spectacles perched on his nose and the intense, slightly manic look of someone who survived on coffee and deadlines.

Mara sent word you were coming, Caleb Winslow said without preamble.

Get inside before someone sees you.

They hurried into the building and Caleb locked the door behind them.

The space was cluttered with papers, printing equipment, and the sharp smell of ink and machine oil.

A young man, barely more than a boy, was working one of the presses, his hands moving with practice efficiency.

That’s my assistant, James,” Caleb said, gesturing dismissively.

He knows to keep his mouth shut.

Now, show me what you’ve got.

Continue reading….
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