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"Always," Thomas affirmed. "We carry our heritage with us, but it shouldn't define every step we take."
A single leaf fluttered down, landing on the back of her hand. Rachel watched its trembling dance, contemplating the intricate patterns that marked its surface—a map of life's journey etched in green and gold.
"Heritage," she echoed, the word tasting bittersweet. She tucked the leaf into her pocket, a small token of her conversation with Thomas—a reminder of the paths both chosen and forsaken.
"Thank you, Thomas." Gratitude laced her words, each syllable a note in the symphony of the woods.
"Anytime, Ranger Blackwood. Remember, the stars guide you, but your feet move you forward."
"Forward," she repeated, her resolve steeling. The call ended with a soft click, and Rachel was once more enveloped by the solitude of the woods, yet no longer alone with her doubts. She was moving forward, one deliberate step at a time.
The woods whispered around Rachel, a hush settling like dew upon her shoulders. Her boots crunched softly on the carpet of fallen leaves, each step a muted drumbeat in the symphony of solitude. The scent of pine and earth mingled with the cool air, whispering secrets only the trees could understand.
Her phone buzzed—a jarring note against nature's calm. She glanced down at the screen, its blue light stark against the soft browns and greens of the forest. A message from her aunt flashed insistently, pulling her back to the world she’d sought to escape, even if just for a moment.
"Rachel, Dawes wants to speak with you."
"What's up?" she replied just as quickly.
A pause.
She knew her aunt hated technology, and it would take her a second to figure out how to reply.
But then, another response, Says some off reservation police are asking about a missing vehicle.
Rachel tensed, staring at the screen. Had cops found out about the man in her aunt's basement? Was she now in danger? The lieutenant of the cartel had answers about her parents... but if the authorities reached him first...
She wasn't just going outside the lines, she was trailblazing a whole new path.
She frowned, and messaged back. Are we still safe?
No one is here. We're safe. Dawes has an idea.
What?
Call, her aunt replied quickly.
Rachel hesitated. "Can't. Not secure."
This wasn't strictly true. She simply didn't have the bandwidth to deal with her aunt or the reservation sheriff just now. Feed. Water. Watch.
Rachel's aunt didn't reply now. She often went cold when her requests were denied. It was one of Rachel's least favorite traits in a person. Chummy and friendly until they didn't get their way. People called it "love" until that love was tested, and then...
She scowled. Embers turned to frost. Warmth turned to frigidity.
She found herself angry now, scowling at her phone. What a silly thing to get angry over, though, wasn't it? Just because her aunt didn't reply to a final text?
Rachel felt like a silly schoolgirl, and she squeezed her phone tightly.
Her thumb hovered over the glowing words, the familiar pang of estrangement tightening in her chest. Doubts, like persistent shadows, crept along the edges of her mind. Her aunt, once a pillar in the family, now an enigma wrapped in silent judgments.
She slid the phone back into her pocket without responding, letting the digital plea vanish into silence. Her thoughts churned, each swirling like leaves caught in a relentless gust. Dawes—always watching, always waiting. What did he want now?
A breath escaped her, visible in the chill air, as Rachel pressed on through the forest. She focused on the rustle of foliage, the distant call of a bird—a world untainted by human complication. But the text’s echo trailed her, insistent, a specter that refused to be ignored.
"Stay out of it," she muttered under her breath, a mantra against the tide of family obligation.
The woods seemed to lean in closer, branches reaching out like hands that might offer comfort or snatch it away.
