Voss's phone later displayed a message forwarded from Tuck: "Turn around. I didn't know what Cain had planned. I'm sorry."
Cole read it after they stopped at a well-lit service station, away from the moving traffic. It was the first clear admission that Tuck had begun to understand how much of his loyalty had been used without his informed consent. Cole put the phone down without answering. He could not yet decide whether the warning was trustworthy or useful.
They continued after a brief pause, avoiding haste. Voss checked with Darla, who confirmed that the gate was open and the group should proceed. The final miles passed through forest and empty fields. The sky began to clear in patches, revealing cold stars above the trees. Cole rode with both hands steady on the bars, surprised by the fact that for once he was not riding away from something. He was riding toward it.
Darla's property lay behind an unremarkable gate at the end of a gravel road. From the highway it looked like an old equipment yard that had been forgotten after a business closed. Beyond the gate were a long workshop, two small outbuildings, and a farmhouse with a single amber window lit against the dark. A wood stove scented the cold air. The truck stopped near the house, and Cole parked beside it as Voss's riders checked the grounds.
Mara climbed down first and helped Eli out. The boy stared at the unfamiliar buildings with an expression of solemn wonder. He had spent the journey awake enough to understand that he was approaching something important, but he was too tired to perform excitement. He simply took his mother's hand and looked at Cole.
"Did we find it?" he asked.
"We found the place," Cole said. "Now we have to find out what it means."
The farmhouse door opened. Darla Reeves stood in the warm rectangle of light, older and smaller than Cole remembered, silver hair cut short and a heavy sweater visible beneath her jacket. She looked from Cole to Mara and then to the boy. Her face changed at the sight of Eli, but she mastered it quickly. She came down the steps with the same purposeful stride she had possessed in Tucson twenty years earlier.
"You're late," she told Cole.
"Eight years late," he replied.
Darla looked at him for a long moment. Then she reached up, briefly touched the silver compass on his vest, and stepped aside. "Get inside. All of you. There's a fire going, and we have a great deal to talk about."
The farmhouse was warmer than Cole expected. A wood stove burned behind a glass panel in the corner, and shelves packed with books lined the walls. The furniture was plain and mismatched, but the room had been arranged with thought. There were blankets near the sofa, a kettle beside