Each line proved what the town pretended not to know: Copper Ridge wasn’t rough by accident, it was engineered by men who profited from lawlessness.
When Lila reached an entry marked with a single fifty-dollar payment and a name beneath it, Rowan’s hands stilled completely. “Read that again,” he said.
Lila’s eyes blurred, but she read it, slower this time, as if the words might change if spoken carefully. The name was Rowan’s brother, Thomas Cade, and beside it a note that made Lila’s stomach twist: Paid for silence. Problem removed.
Rowan stared at the fire like it had turned into a grave. “That was my brother,” he said, each word carved out of something deep. “They said he ran off. They said he took money and vanished. I knew better. I just never had proof.”
The fire popped loudly, breaking the moment, and Lila realized with a sudden heaviness that this was no longer only about her survival. Rowan had dragged her up this mountain not just to save her from Bart Vane’s hands, but because the truth she carried was the knife he had been missing. And now the truth had teeth.
From that night on, the training changed. Rowan taught her to shoot. The rifle bruised her shoulder at first, and her shots went wide. When tears filled her eyes, Rowan’s voice snapped, not in anger, but in urgency. “Tears blur sight. Blurred sight gets you killed.”
Lila grit her teeth and tried again. Every missed shot became a lesson,
