Rogue

Montana.

Deep in Montana was a friend of Aunt Sia and Dr. Sims’ from their day as an agent with Project Sanctuary. Apparently, they were a key component to helping sneak high profile Conduits over the border and out of the DUP’s grasp—and they were willing to do it one last time for old times’ sake. 

Of course, that was if we could even make it past the border to begin with. Which suddenly got very hard when Dr. Sims got a notification on his phone while they talked logistics, mouth immediately tensing into a thin straight line. “Delsin, look,” He said, holding his phone out for Dad to take.  

Dad took the phone, scanning something on the screen before cursing aloud. “Shit. Shit!” He looked between Dr. Sims and Aunt Sia in equal parts upset and disbelief. “What the hell are we supposed to do?”

Well that was a response I didn’t like. I was still hovering nearby, left in place when he detached from me—but his outburst was enough to catch the attention of everyone else and they soon joined. 

Is everything okay? Cat asked immediately, eyes wide as she assumed the worst. 

I gave them all a look of helplessness, not having any answers myself before turning to Dad. “What’s…what’s going on?”

Dad looked at me, and I could see his rejection at my curiosity play on his face, that rolling door of fatherly dismissals spinning around in his head: don’t worry…I’ll handle it…it’s nothing…

But then he glanced at Aunt Sia and she gave him a single nod, and he sighed hard, relenting. “Look,” he said, holding up the phone for us to look at the screen. 

Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no. There on the breaking news stream was a still of us, all of us—Zeke, Aunt Sia and Dr. Sims around Dr. Sims’ phone as Dad turned towards our group, gesturing towards the camera, mouth caught open in a demand while I looked up at him. On the other side of the screen, Brent stood there, arm around Mei, and Dom beside them, all of them in various states of shock as Cat stood, hand out—a glob hurtling towards the camera at a speed too fast for its frame rate to capture fully. 

The drone. It got an image of us. 

And the newscaster’s voice rang out over the still image: “—spotted at Linus Pauling Charter School in the Sellwood neighborhood of Portland, Oregon, where multiple Joint Task Force agents were found injured.” The man’s voice said. The window minimized, and to the right of the screenshot taken from the drone’s stream, three red lines appeared, connecting Dad’s face to his old photo for the COLE committee board, and Brent and my photos from last years’ school picture day. 

“Three people have been identified as Delsin Rowe and his children, Regina and Brent Rowland, who Public Affairs Spokesperson Gavin Parker has stated that the Department of Homeland Security wishes to speak to in connection with the recent attack on the school as well as other incidents. DHS has also identified two more people in the footage: COLE founder Alessia Donovan and Doctor Eugene Sims of the Second Age Movement. DHS is working on identifying other people in this image, and asks if you have any information about any of these individuals or where they could be now, to call—”

Dad clicked the side of Dr. Sims’ phone, turning off the news stream as we all fell into silence. He raised the phone like he was going to spike it against the ground before Dr. Sims interjected with “Delsin!” and snatched it back when he hesitated. 

Dad pressed his palms into his eyes. “Shit,” he growled to himself.

And I couldn’t help but agree—not only were our faces plastered everywhere, but now theirs were too, on this huge national manhunt for us. “What do we do?” I asked Dad. 

One of his hands came off of his eyes, holding up and begging me to give him a moment. His other ran over his face before freeing himself, blinking through whatever stars he produced in his vision as his eyes snapped to Aunt Sia and Dr. Sims. 

And he repeated my exact question at them. “What do we do?”

Both glanced at each other, their gaze unsteady; until now, it had been about Dad and us—but now they were dragged into this mess. Not just them; everyone here was on that screen moments ago: Zeke, glasses barely obscuring his identity, Mei and Dom beside Brent…

And Cat, who had shot the drone down with her powers.

Dr. Sims was the first to clear his throat. “We’ll have to assume Homeland Security will start trying to actively find us,” he said. “Between the destruction of property and us breaking into the school, they’re going to assume we know more than we do.”

“We do know more,” Dad stressed.

“Yeah, but they’re not going to think we have good intentions,” Dr. Sims pointed out. “We have to assume they’ll start cracking down hard to try to find us.”

“Delsin…” Aunt Sia drew off, glancing behind Dad where we all stood as if to say not in front of them. 

Dad followed her eyes back to us, hesitating as he took us all in, eyes especially landing on Cat. His expression grew grim the more he looked until he finally said, “Brent, Jean—come here. Zeke—stay with the kids for a minute.”

Zeke thankfully moved without a quip to test Dad’s patience as he pulled us aside, all pooling together with Dr. Sims and Aunt Sia by the hood of the car. “This is bad,” Brent said helpfully. Like that wasn’t already obvious. 

Dad bit his tongue, exhaling sharply though his nose like a pissed off bull that was seeing red. “Okay, we need to figure out what to do,” he said, motioning over my and Brent’s shoulders towards my friends. “Tommy and Theresa are in the situation they’re in right now because they were on the news. Now they all are! How the hell are we supposed to keep them all from getting snatched by Celia now?”

Aunt Sia held up a placating hand. “Breathe,” she said, earning nothing but a scornful look from Dad. He stopped rambling, though. “Celia’s already got Tommy and Theresa, she’d have no need for any of them.”

“Yeah, for now,” Dad responded sardonically. 

“Cat says no one in her family knows about her powers,” Brent interjected. “And her and Tommy’s family aren’t…the best. Her mom might not freak, but…”

Dad’s lip twitched as he placated a sneer. “Yeah, I know,” he huffed; Tommy’s grandfather had happily taken Dad’s aid through the initial onset of his illness, but was absolutely vocal about how much he disliked where the funding for his treatment was coming from, cursing COLE and Dad’s work to hell. 

Happily benefited from it, though. Didn’t seem to object to it enough to reject it. 

Dad frowned, worrying the inside of his bottom lip as he chewed on it. “We need to hide them,” he finally said, turning in place to look at Aunt Sia and Dr. Sims. “Find somewhere for them to lie low, not be so easy to pinpoint. At least until we get to where Celia is holding the others.” 

“We send them towards COLE,” Aunt Sia suggested. “Seattle chapter. I’ll send word to Arthur and he’ll hide them for us for now, at least until we can be sure they’ll be safe.” 

Of course, none of that could happen until we said goodbye. 

I had my friends for all of two hours. Two measly hours of remembering what it was like to be with them before it was time to leave again and solve another issue. Despite my initial shame and not wanting to even see them to begin with…I wasn’t ready to let that go. Not yet. The bear hug between Mei and I was bone and soul crushing, and the side hug with Dom was more tender than anything I was used to from him. I watched Mei stretch on her toes to kiss Brent on his blush stained cheek before looking for Cat to find her with her arms wrapped around herself, holding back tears. 

“Hey,” I murmured, stepping forward. My hands came to her shoulders and I gave her a gentle squeeze. “We’ll message you when we’ve got him, okay?”

Cat sniffled, wiping her eyes with her hands as she nodded—though she didn’t seem sure. Sure was, in fact, the last word I’d use to describe her; she was chewing on her lip like she wanted to rip it clean off, fiddling with her fingerless gloves. Behind her, Mei separated from Brent and seemed to clue in to the catastrophe going on over here, and called, “Cat? C’mon, we should…we should go.”

Mei and Dom started towards the Honda, a long ride back ahead of them—but Cat didn’t move. She looked up at me with pleading blue eyes as she stopped playing with her gloves to tell me I want to come with you guys.  

Oh, that drop something inside my chest made was enough to make me want to immediately yell at her. What the hell did she mean she wanted to come with us? Instead I shook my head instead of trying to shake sense into her. “You can’t,” I stressed. 

I should, she reiterated with gusto, putting emphasis on the motion. I need to help Tommy, he’s the closest thing I have to a brother. I should be there. I’m a Conduit, I can help—

I shook my head. Is this how Dad felt every time I rambled on about wanting to help out? All I could think about was how dangerous it’d be for her. “Cat, these guys are dangerous,” I told her. “Like, these are the same guys that kidnapped me at the mall. They literally just broke into the school.” I pulled her in again, hugging tight as she deflated against me—or as much as she could with me being way shorter than her. “Just—we’ll have him call you, okay? The moment we’re safe. And then you can tell your mom and grandfather, and we’ll bring him back.”

I tried not to let my own thoughts get to me as I placated her. What if Tommy wasn’t okay? Was Celia really below torturing someone? And if we did save Tommy and Reese, they’d still be in danger. Hell, I was scared for Cat now, because what if Celia found out about her powers? What would keep her from making Cat like…like me? A broken husk of a Conduit. I couldn’t let that happen to a friend of mine, not when her arm laced across my back was enough to make that spot between my shoulder blades twinge at her touch. 

No, I couldn’t let that happen. As much as I understood how badly she wanted to help…“You should stay. Besides,” I said, motioning to the Honda with a small nod of my head. “They could probably use a Conduit to watch them right now. God forbid if these guys learn Brent’s dating Mei, I don’t wanna imagine what they might do to get to him—or Dad—through her.” 

Cat huffed. This is just your way of trying to make me feel useful, she accused. 

I chuckled. “A bit,” I agreed in jest, before letting the laugh fall to put something more pensive on my face. “And we both know Tommy wouldn’t want you to do this.”

Tommy…I was still conflicted on how to feel about him. He was a dick, left me to die, sold out my family—but he was also being held hostage simply because he said our names on a news segment. It felt unfair. And if there was one thing I knew about the guy, it’s that he loved Cat with everything in him. He was already lacking family, and she was the closest thing he had to make up for it. He’d never want her to do this. It’s probably why he gave himself up to Archangel to begin with. To protect her. 

I didn’t want her to end up like me. 

And Cat, whatever defiance she had that had knotted itself in her throat seemed to go down with her next swallow as she nodded, relenting. Alright, she said, looking like she hated that the words slipped from her own fingers. You guys just be careful, please. And talk to us. She added in chastisement, making my ears feel hot. No more fucking hiding or anything. 

If she was willing to put in the effort to sign the curse word, she was serious, something I wasn’t exactly willing to fight against knowing she could fight back. “Alright,” I promised. 

We left Washington in our rear view mirror after that, traveling back east once more as we followed Aunt Sia’s tail light like a beacon on I-84. Dr. Sims had taken the passenger’s side seat, laptop propped on his knee as he searched for more about Purcell and what it could hold. 

Dad didn’t speak. Not at the beginning. Not until all the way at our first stop at a gas station somewhere in Idaho. 

Dad opened the back of the van, telling Brent and I to grab the coffees in his hands before clambering in, reaching into the bag hooked on his inner elbow to pull out a half-dozen box of donuts. “It’s no cake,” he said, nodding to Zeke to signal to him to close the door. “But…happy birthday.”

Brent immediately reached for some jelly-filled, powdery mess I hated knowing he was gonna tear apart while sitting where we slept, asking jokingly, “What, no candles?”

Dad huffed, trying to repress his exhausted smile. “Can give you some smoke to blow around if it’ll make you feel better.”

I chuckled, pulling out my own glazed and chocolatey treat. “You always told us not to smoke,” I said before taking a bite and washing it down with something that was mildly mocha flavored and watered down a considerable amount.

“Yeah, and I also told you both to never drink, and look how well you listened there,” Dad playfully snapped back. The van lurched and Zeke moved to get back on the highway, the rev of Aunt Sia’s motorcycle following behind us now. “Do you know how hard it is to be the cool parent when you ignore the rules I do give you?” 

Brent spoke through his next bite. “Did you ever listen to your parents’ rules?”

Dad’s smile finally broke through. “Barely. Which is why I get on you guys about it. I was a teenager once.”

The car fell silent save for Dr. Sims directing Zeke back to the on ramp and the aggravating sound of Brent trying to lick jelly off of his finger. I ate my own donut slowly, trying to get it to settle against the knots in my stomach that kept churning with every thought of my best friend trapped somewhere in the mountains simply because Dad’s old foe had a bone to pick with him. 

And speaking of Dad—after the brief joke, his gaze returned to the front windshield, frown deepening the lines on his face once again as he slipped off to think about his own troubles. His hand clenched at his side like he was preparing to use his power, shoulders just as stiff as they were on the ride to Portland. 

He was beyond stressed. Why wouldn’t he be? Our pictures were plastered on the news, two people were missing and a bunch killed over the course of the last month—all in his name. And now we were going to have to go confront this Celia person—someone who had poisoned Mom, me, caused so many issues for Dad years ago—and follow whatever clues she was leaving Dad to send him on the world’s worst trivia hunt. 

I’m surprised he wasn’t more grey in the hair, honestly. Or bald. 

But, despite the hairline only being salt-and-pepper, I did notice the bags that cradled his lower lash, how the gaunt in his cheeks seemed to illuminate deeper in the shine of the brake lights ahead. We were well on the road and he hadn’t even touched his own coffee—he didn’t even have anything to eat, I suddenly realized. When was the last time I did see him eat? Sleep? Every time I woke up on the road, back sore, he was there; awake, glaring at some nondescript place in the van with clenched fists.

But that shadow across his face was too dark for me to want to confront this fact directly. Instead, I simply nudged the side of his thigh with my boot and asked, “Aren’t you gonna eat one?”

Dad blinked, settling back down on Earth as he refocused on me. “Hmm?” he hummed before fully processing my question. His chuckle felt forced. “It’s not my birthday, Jeanie. I’m fine.”

I tried to quell my frown into something more playful. “No, it’s not—but you should eat,” I said in turn. 

Dad’s jaw twitched slightly. “I’m fine,” he repeated. 

God, he was stubborn. 

So, instead of arguing with him or continuing this back-and-forth where we both would ignore the other’s veiled response, I simply ripped the donut in my hand in half and held out a piece to him. “It’s no different than a slice of cake,” I said when he gave me a deadpanned look. “I’m not going to finish both of these, anyways. I’m not Brent.”

“Hey!”

Dad hesitated for a second—but it seemed like he decided it was just as useless to argue with me as I did him, because he took the piece and bit into it in defeat. 

Brent, who was looking for something to wipe his sticky hands off on, asked, “So what are we gonna do once we get there?” 

Dad grabbed one of the napkins and a water bottle that had been partially drunk, tipping it into the napkin until it was wet and handing it to Brent wordlessly. His face, though, took on that same tense-jawed and low-browed look he’s had since we left Boston. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “We have to find exactly where Theresa’s phone location pinged first, and that’ll help us see if Archangel is there or if it was triangulated. If it’s triangulated, then Eugene and I will have to figure out the exact location so we can find where they’re holding her and Tommy.”

Suddenly the chocolate glaze tasted a lot more like mud. “But…you think she’s there, right?” I asked. What if that was the phone’s last location and she was just…gone? How were we supposed to help her then?

Dad immediately nodded. “She’s probably there. Or at least close,” he rushed to reassure me. “Triangulating her location isn’t hard, it just takes a minute. From there….”

He drew off; because from there, we’d be flying in blind in the hope that we’d be able to pull this off without anything bad happening. 

Brent finished the thought for Dad. “From there, we wing it?”

Dad huffed something that would’ve been humorous if he didn’t look so stressed. “Yeah. Wing it.” he agreed, barely hiding the bitterness to his tone. 

Brent and I shared an unsure glance, Dad’s tone not exactly helping quell the anxiety that had my heart doing somersaults in my chest. Really, I couldn’t blame him; it had been years since Seattle, and here he was, haunted by ghosts he thought he banished long ago.  Particularly malevolent poltergeists who had no problem causing issues in and for his name. 

Quite honestly, the longer I thought about the whole thing, the higher my own blood pressure spiked. 

But the one thing I kept thinking about was that day in Zeke’s hut, when Dad pulled out the photographs he had taken during his time chasing the trail of bodies Celia left for him to find. “There are people out there that will see you as nothing more than a chance to hurt someone else,” Dad had said as I tried my hardest to avoid looking at the wounds on the body strung to a billboard by a cosplay sword. “These are the kind of people I’m trying to keep from hurting you.” 

Little did he know, they already had. 

And now, there were two innocent people in the hands of someone that wasn’t above doing something so below the belt to make that log of death a little longer. 

What scared me the most was that we might already be too late. 

“Dad?”

I seemed to have caught him right as he shoveled the rest of the donut half into his mouth, because he had to swallow it back with a gulp before asking, “Yeah, Jean?”

“Do you…” I had to find the strength to even ask it aloud—it felt like jinxing them, in a way. “Do you think Reese and Tommy are…are even alive?”

The whole car grew stiff with my question; Zeke’s hold on the steering wheel grew white, Dr. Sims’ typing stopped. Even Brent froze, glancing at Dad with his own unease, like I finally voiced something that had been bothering him too. 

And Dad? He seemed entirely unsure of what to say. 

He stalled for time, I knew that’s what he was doing; he kept chewing but slowed, and decided to swallow it back with a long drink from his water bottle. But finally he peeled it away from his lips and cleared his throat. 

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “But Celia…when she has an agenda, she doesn’t stray from it. There’s a reason she took your friends. I think they’re alive, but…” he exhaled, running a hand over his face. “Just—don’t take it as a promise, alright?”

Yeah, that wasn’t exactly reassuring. 

Dad saw my grimace and immediately tried to dissuade my doubts. “But that’s a worst-case-scenario,” he said, looking between Brent and I. “Them being alive is crucial to whatever she’s planning. You’ve seen what Archangel can do—if she wanted them dead, they’d be dead.”

That didn’t make me feel better, but at least he was trying. 

Brent seemed just as unsure. “Then…why take them?” he asked. 

Dad sighed, shifting where he sat on the mattress topper and throwing an arm over the knee he brought up towards his chest. He seemed to chew on his words like cud before deciding they were best spit out and unfiltered. “I think Celia knows I wouldn’t come to her without a reason, and she’s done depending on others to do the job. She sent Akurans after Jean and you, and you both managed to get out of that. They bombed COLE thinking I’d come running, but I didn’t respond to that fast enough. 

“If I had to guess,” Dad continued, weighing a thought in his head by tilting it side to side. “She probably figured out that I wasn’t local and went to the one place she thought I’d be—the Akomish reservation. And…well, we know how that went,” he said with an uncomfortable glance at me. “I was late home. She still missed me. So instead of trying to find me, she's forcing me to come find her. Your friends are reassurance that I will.” 

“So she…kidnapped a couple of random people, to make sure you’d come to her?” I asked. “What’s keeping her from killing them the moment you find her?”

Dad’s face grew dark with the idea. “Because she knows I won’t listen if she does that.”

He sighed hard, shaking his head to banish the thoughts before he pushed the donut box towards us again. “Just eat,” he said a bit sharply, before schooling his face into an apologetic smile. “Sorry it’s not much. Your 18th should be more exciting.” 

Frankly, I felt lucky enough to even be alive for my 18th, so I wasn’t exactly going to complain. 

At least the drive towards my best friend’s kidnapper was pretty. 

As the sun rose, the horizon stretched, Idaho’s panhandle giving away to the Rockies as we traveled closer to Montana. A nearly twelve hour drive (or, ten, as Dad broke multiple laws when he and Zeke traded places) spent mostly on the road had left me with my ass numb from sitting for so long, left to do nothing but stare at the scenery through the front windshield. The mountains fell back to vast plains as we entered the heartlands of the Treasure State, cutting from east to north before hopping off the highway and following the two-lane freeway towards…

“The Blackfeet Nation?” I read off of the sign next to the two metal effigies of Blackfeet people on horseback staring off at the wide plains before glancing at Dad in confusion. But there it was in bold lettering, greeting us as we entered the Blackfoot Reservation from the East Glacier Park entrance—or, Omah-ko-yis, the translated sign said. 

Dad nodded when I stopped craning my neck to check out the critters atop of the four flags at the art installment. “Sneaking Conduits into Canada wasn’t exactly easy,” he said from the drivers’ seat as I stuck my head in the space where the center console was. “Especially when the DUP were patrolling every major border entry. Your Aunt Sia, though? Found a way to help Conduits escape.”

And so we followed the path to that escape; off the scenic loop and into the woods till Dad turned onto a fire access road that was more gravel than dirt, driving until the pines split to reveal…

Another van?

This one was far less conspicuous than Zeke’s; it was plain white, one of those vans perfect for some sort of event company and with the logo to match: Prairie Sage Events. A sprig of sage crossed over a single stem of wheat above the printed and sun-bleached words, an address in Alberta etched below it. 

The drivers’ side door opened the moment we were visible, and out climbed this excitable older woman. She had crows feet at her eyes that spoke of a thousand smiles that had crossed her face over the decades, her plaited braids more white than brown. She looked older than Zeke, and she had a slight wobble to her like Betty did, favoring her right knee more than the left—but she was still spry, waving avidly as Dad threw the van in park. When Zeke opened his door I could hear her declare, “‘Bout time I finally meet yous guys!” 

Dad helped us get out of the van, and I rounded it in time to hear Aunt Sia’s motorcycle taper off and see the woman point a first finger adorned with a silver and turquoise ring at Dad. “Delsin Rowe, obviously,” she said, like it was as obvious as the brewing snow clouds above. “Hard mistaking your face when it’s the tagline of every news site I log into.”

She shook his hand—and nothing happened. She was human. Releasing Dad, she looked at Aunt Sia, saying, “And it’s nice to finally put a face to King Rat,” she grinned. 

Brent glanced at me, bewildered that the woman called Aunt Sia that—at least before the redhead laughed, responding in turn, “You too, Robin.” 

The woman smiled, waving her off. “No need for that anymore. Call me Cassie,” she said. “Miss, if you’ve gotta add anything to it.”

“Cassie, then,” Aunt Sia stepped aside, motioning towards Zeke. “You know Bulldog—and Angel,” she added before waving at Dr. Sims. Suddenly it made sense: they were monikers, probably from their time in Project Sanctuary. 

Zeke stepped forward to take Cassie’s hand next, eyes just barely peaking out from over his sunglasses. “So this is our reincarnated Harriet Tubman,” he joked. 

Cassie waved him off. “What I did hardly counts as something like that,” she said—though she did seem rather pleased with the praise. She shifted on her feet slightly as she let go of Zeke’s hand—and in her movement, spotted Brent and I in the back of the group. Motioning towards us with a jerk of her head, she asked, “Are those the charges in the back?”

Aunt Sia glanced back. “Oh, no, those are—that’s my niece and nephew.”

Cassie’s eyes narrowed a bit—not suspicious, but analytical, like she could physically see the web connecting us to Dad as she glanced his way. “Looks like the kids I’ve been seeing on the news with you.” The silent question was loud: what are they doing here?

Dr. Sims stepped forward. “Ro—Cassie,” he corrected himself. “We couldn’t explain everything over the phone just in case, but…we need to get into Canada.” He motioned behind him at the strange party we made; two barely-adults, the original pioneer of the underground group she worked with, a man who’s been there since the beginning, the leader of the Second Age and the man who started that second age by defeating Augustine. 

And instead of doing the smart thing—turning around and washing her hands of whatever issues we were bound to bring into her life—she simply glanced back at her van before looking back at Dr. Sims and saying, “Well. It’s gonna be a tight squeeze.”

Brent and I were volun-told to help Cassie unload the vehicle so that everyone could hop in and ride off to Canada, and I was having trouble seeing how we were supposed to do that and not get caught. Especially when she opened the back doors, and all I saw were tables and chairs. “I do a lot of event work, so hauling around tables and chairs isn’t exactly too suspect,” she told us, passing me a folding chair to prop against a nearby oak.

Brent took the two tables she offered with one hand, holding them with ease before he dragged a couple chairs towards himself. “Any way to convince them that the six people hiding in the back of your van are also pretty normal?” he asked, unceremoniously plopping them in the snow. 

Cassie simply smiled. “Well, I’m not sure about six,” she drawled, turning to grab another table. She kept her glance back on us, though, and winked. “But I do have my own ways of making sure they stay none the wiser.”

Instead of pulling out the table and passing it to Brent and I, her fingers flinched and there was a click as two latches undid, and she pulled down. 

And instead of the remaining chairs falling with a clatter, a door came down, revealing a hidden hatch drilled into the back of the van. It wasn’t big; maybe large enough to hide a person and a bag of their things? But it was hidden, totally unnoticeable upon first glance, and that’s what mattered.

My eyes widened. “Woah…is that how you snuck people over the border?” I asked, clambering in to get a better look. 

Cassie straightened—or as well as she could in the back of the van—and the pride on her face was unmistakable. “For sure!” She said. “Your buddy Bulldog made the blueprint for it and all. I’ve kept it this whole time in case something happened again—that, and it’s great to run mickeys and those really bad cereals over the border without getting caught.” 

Brent shot me a bewildered look to mouth like the mouse? before Cassie drew our attention again by slapping the top of the hidden alcove. “But, back then, this was how I got those wanted Conduits out of the situation they were in. Yep—I picked up the poor kids they’d send my way, hide ‘em in here, and go back home with them.”

I cocked my head aside. “So you live in Canada and come down here?” 

“Sure do,” she confirmed with a nod. “‘Cause of that Jay Treaty you guys have, I get to hop around wherever I wanna without all the visa bullshit. Which kinda came in handy when you’re looking to smuggle people with the least amount of pushback possible.”

“Jay treaty?” I glanced at Brent, who looked just as lost. 

Cassie chuckled. “Well, it was called that—now it’s some sorta immigration law I can’t bother to remember. See—when your Yankees gave the boot to Britain, you guys made this deal with them about Canada—since we were under the crown. There was this little footnote in there that let First Nations come into America for work without all those extra visa steps you’ve gotta go through. Things changed long since then, but America kept that agreement—”

“That’s surprising,” Brent muttered sardonically under his breath, throwing me a look. America wasn’t exactly known for keeping their agreements with Natives.

“—so, legally, I can come and go as I please,” she finished, an amused toothy smile on her face that said she fully agreed with Brent’s assessment. 

The full scheme was beginning to make sense in my mind, and I couldn’t help but be impressed. “So you’d come over here to the states pretending to work…” 

Cassie nodded. “And I’d pick up whoever Sanctuary sent me, hide ‘em, and sneak ‘em away before those keeners in their bee suits caught wind and locked the poor Conduits up.” 

I mimicked her nod, hoping she didn’t know that I had no idea what half of what she said meant. 

Brent, though, moved on to one truly pressing question of his as he helped me back out of the van. “So you’re not a Conduit?” 

Cassie followed close, though she only moved to sit at the end of the van’s cargo bay. “Nope,” she confirmed, swinging her legs over the edge and letting them kick. “Never got in on that fun. Was hoping I’d get to have the chance to fly without paying for airfare, but I never got lucky.”

I wanted to know: “How many Conduits did you help?”

She paused, drumming her fingers on the lid of the compartment before using the other to wave off the question. “Ah, there’s no use keeping score of all that—”

“About seventy.”

We turned; Dad, Dr. Sims, Zeke and Aunt Sia had finished whatever it was they didn’t want us overhearing, moving to join us instead and catching the end of the conversation. Dad climbed into the van without comment or fanfaire, gently steering me aside to take my place and look at the hidden alcove. 

Dr. Sims pulled his coat a bit closer as the wind passed in another rough gust, the breeze that came down from the Rockies brutal. “When I started working with Project Sanctuary after escaping, Cassie already had a lot of people she snuck over the border. Adding the people I sent her way, on top of what you did for Alessia?” He shrugged like he wasn’t fully sure of the number but trusted his guess enough. “Probably around seventy people. I think it’s a bit more than that, actually.”

Cassie took a minute to process that before blinking, immediately trying to downplay the action. “It’s nothing,” she said. “I know you guys had a lot more runners—”

“None as good as you,” Aunt Sia cut off, something gentle and admiring and grateful in her tone. “You were the first one to help me get people over the border, too.”

Cassie’s toothy grin was almost proud, but she still had enough humility in her to be humble. “Honestly, I probably would’ve tried doing it anyways—and without your planning, I would’ve been caught.” She patted the top of the hidden compartment. “And hopefully you have a good plan here, too, or we’re all going to be spending the night in prison. They’re gonna do a cabin check at the border, and all of you aren’t fitting in this thing—”

“We have a plan, don’t worry,” Dr. Sims reassured her.

I was not having a good time. 

Dad demanded I hide in the alcove, tucked away from the world in case something happened. The issue was, he wanted someone to be there in case I’d need backup, and they’d have to hide, too. Which meant Brent was shoved into the single-person-space with me, so close I was practically sitting in his lap. 

“Why do you breathe so hard?” he grumbled, shifting uncomfortably. 

“Because you’re taking up the entire goddamn hatch,” I hissed back, trying to readjust to find a more comfortable position that didn’t involve his knee in my ass. “Seriously, dude, you’re not even that tall—”

“I’m six foot!” Brent defended. 

“Barely—”

There was a rapt on the door of the hidden compartment. “Hey! Enough,” Dad’s voice commanded on the other side. He, Aunt Sia, Zeke and Dr. Sims were in the van’s cargo space as Cassie steered this strange ship of stowaways towards the Canadian border crossing in the hopes that we could cross it…without getting arrested or deported.

The only way I could see anything happening on the other side of the hidden alcove’s door was through a hole where a screw once was, the tiniest porthole to see the adults (or, adultier adults, I suppose; I’d have to get used to the idea of being 18) bob along with the bumpy road in the cargo bay of the van. Dad was closest to the hidden compartment, back against the hatch, shoulder just barely brushing the bottom of my peephole. 

“Do we both have to be in here?” I complained now that I had a visual of him. 

Dad sighed, shoulders dropping with the movement in exasperation. “You two can make it to Canada,” he said, shaking his head in a way I was sure was accompanied by an eye roll. “I’ll let you out once we’re over the border and somewhere safe.” I could hear the plea in the undertone: for the love of God, stop bickering till then. 

Hard to want to be quiet when Brent’s knee was closer to my tailbone than my own spine was. 

On the opposite side of us, beyond the barrier of the van’s cabin, Cassie called loud enough to be heard through the metal, “We’re about to hit the border crossing!” 

Dad hushed us once more, adding a “Be quiet!” for good measure that suggested it wasn’t a request. His head turned, and I could see the profile of his face as he asked, “Ready Eugene?” 

“Think so,” Dr. Sims said from somewhere to the right. “I need you guys to back up as far as you can—if it’s too thin, they’ll be able to see through it.” 

See through it?

Everyone outside of the small alcove moved around as the van pattered to a stop, and soon I was watching the world from over Dad’s shoulder as Dr. Sims slotted himself between them and the van door. 

On the other side of the wall, the van’s engine sputtered silent. “Oki,” Cassie greeted. “Coming back home after helping out at the council meeting!”

I strained my ears to hear beyond the van, and was just barely able to make out the voice of a man. “Visa or identification?”

“ID—here’s my tribal card.”

There was a second voice, lower and scratchier, the audible proof of dozens of cigarettes smoked. “We’ll need you to open the back,” he said. All but commanded. “Anything to declare?”

Yeah, just five stowaways currently wanted for questioning by America’s Homeland Security!

“Nothing but some tables and chairs,” Cassie responded instead, voice surprisingly smooth and calm for someone actively committing multiple felonies. Guess her work from before trained the fear out of her tone. 

Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to keep them from wanting to find out for themselves. “Mind if we check the back?”

To which the pilot of our very illegal vehicle said, “Sure—you’ll need the key in the ignition, though.”

Brent shot me an uneasy glance, my skepticism reflected in his face; but Cassie’s words seemed to be some sort of signal, because by the time Brent’s brow finished arching, something blue flickered at the seams of the hidden box—including through my little porthole, which I immediately peeked through. 

Dr. Sims had those strange, runestic floating gauntlets around his wrists, crawling up his arms like technological bangles as they pulsed with the energy of a dozen LED car headlights and the static of a slide in summer. He pushed the ringlets forward and they grew, conjoined and multiplied until an entire wall of blue sat between the door and where we all hid. It shimmered blue, then white, then began to gain texture and shadow and shape as it became a perfect mimic of how the van looked only a mere thirty minutes ago when tables and chairs were stacked within it. A perfect mimic. 

A foolproof hologram. 

Just as the blue and white settled and the pixels stopped shimmering, the back of the van’s doors opened and two border patrol agents, both in the same nauseating green that I was sure my face was as they stared right at the others outside of the hidden alcove. 

Except, they didn’t jump with a start and yell and brandish guns or tase Dad or whatever. Even as the hologram seemed just a second too late in gaining the new shadows and highlights the sunlight pouring in gave it, they didn’t flinch. “You said you were helping with the council meeting?” the shortest guy asked, seemingly standing on his toes to try and look over the chairs in the hologram. “Seems pretty bare back here.”

“Business general session!” Cassie called from the cab of the van. “First one of the year—a lot more people there and all, you know? They needed some extra tables and chairs—plus I planned the luncheon after.”

“And you didn’t bring any food, right?” The taller one asked. “You have to declare that, and we’d have to inspect any produce to make sure—”

“I didn’t! That freezer back there hasn’t worked in months, I’ve been meaning to get it fixed.” Cassie sounded so nonplussed at the lies, like they were practiced a thousand times over. I suppose, with all the work she’s done before this with Project Sanctuary they were, unshaken despite the very undeclared cargo she had hiding behind that digital veil. She even had the gall to try and rush them with, “Is this going to take much longer? I have dinner plans with my daughter and the grandbabies today and the meeting ran late.”

A false timecrunch, a fake schedule to make her pressed for time, to urge the border patrol agents to believe the mirage in front of them and move on. 

And after a beat, the taller agent nodded to the shorter, portly one, and the doors to the van closed, everyone collectively sighing in relief as Dr. Sims shook off the gauntlets of his power and let the hologram dissolve into pixels.

Dad looked over at Dr. Sims, his profile in the little porthole of my peek hole. “That never stops being cool,” he said, the relief in his tone making his voice almost boyish. 

“Oh thank god,” Brent complained, pushing past me the moment Dad opened the hatch to the hidden alcove. His hand hit my chest and my back hit the van. 

“Hey!”

Brent at least had the manners to act a bit ashamed at his claustrophobia. “Sorry, just—was getting cramped in there.”

At least I could agree with that. I don’t think I’d been that close to him since we shared a womb. “No kidding.” I crawled out of the end of the van, taking Dad’s hand to step out and look around. 

We were hiding in another wooded side road, the sort that led to a home that was no longer standing save for its brick chimney. It was just barely dusk, the sky beginning to turn brilliantly purple and pink somewhere behind the treetops. Dr. Sims was already engrossed in his phone off on the side, only looking up when Dad began approaching him. Meanwhile, Zeke was being a surprisingly good gentleman, helping Cassie out of her driver’s seat once she swung open the door. 

“I don’t know how you did it,” she said, before holding her arms out wide. “But—welcome to Canada.”

Dad made it to Dr. Sims’ side just as Aunt Sia pulled something up on her own phone. “How far are we?” He asked. 

Dr. Sims pinched the screen and zoomed in on what looked like…google maps, if it was blue-tinted and cyberpunk. “About two hundred and thirty-five miles,” he told Dad. The finger shifted, and the map became 3D. “Both across and up.”

Dad groaned. “Joy,” he rolled his eyes at the idea of hiking. Not that I didn’t agree with him; doing any sort of hiking was hell. In winter? Worse. 

And when we were going after someone who actively tried to kill us, multiple ways? 

Yeah, not exactly thrilled about the merit badge this hike would earn us. 

Dr. Sims looked sorry, but made sure Dad knew: “It’s the last place Jean’s friend’s location pinged,” he told Dad. 

Meanwhile, Cassie turned to Zeke. “With a trip that long, you all better get going,” she said, holding the keys to her van out for Zeke to take. In turn, he took the keys to his van out of his vest and offered them to her, which she immediately pocketed. 

“To keep a fella honest,” he joked.

Cassie chuckled politely. “I’ll have my daughter take me over the border to pick up the van tomorrow,” she said, before pointing a finger at him accusingly. “You better bring my van back in one piece. I’d hate to have to paint over yours.” 

I hated the underlying pledge in the exchange; ‘I am taking the keys to your van, to replace what I lose if you die’. 

Not really the chipper farewell we could use right now. 

Cassie seemed to at least sense that, raising her voice so we all could hear her say, “And you call me when you’re done saving those kids, so I can sneak you right back over and you can take them to their families. It was nice, finally meeting the faces behind the call signs,” she added, holding out a hand to shake. 

Aunt Sia stepped forward, taking the woman’s hand—not really in a professional way, but something that translated into a thanks deeper than what strangers who technically just met should exchange. “Thank you for helping me one last time.”

Those who knew her from Project Sanctuary gave her farewells with equal gratitude, Dad nodding with a smile before returning to delegating with Dr. Sims about the trip. It was in that lull that she turned to Brent and I. 

“You two be careful out there, alright?” she said earnestly. “You’ve got quite the mission in front of you.”

“Yeah, it’s…” I sighed, shoving my worrying hands away in my pockets. 

“A clusterfuck?” Brent offered bluntly.

“Dude!”

Instead of being aghast at Brent’s candor, Cassie just chuckled. “I wasn’t gonna say it, but…” she held up her hands in mock surrender. 

They fell back to her side with a soft clap at her sides, and her exhale felt…heavy. Far too heavy for someone who didn’t know us, and dense with things she felt she couldn’t say because of that fact. “Just—listen to your elders. They know what they’re talking about when it comes to stuff like this. Trust me, I know.”

Brent took the farewell with a nod, leaving to go to where Aunt Sia was currently fiddling with something in her boot—but I stayed hovering, only speaking to interject when it looked like she was about to leave. “Wait! When—” I cut off, letting her take a moment to recalibrate as she heard me, turning. “When you were doing…everything for Project Sanctuary—weren’t you ever scared? Of getting caught or something happening to you?”

Despite how stupid the question sounded to my own ears, Cassie just laughed, like a schoolteacher having to explain to a kid something simple, like where the sun goes at night. “Always,” she admitted. Casually. Jokingly. “Y'think it’s not nerve-wracking, breaking multiple laws in multiple countries?” 

I couldn’t help but stare at her. “But you…you aren’t a Conduit. You aren’t even American. So you did all that just…because?” I asked. She had no fight in this, blood or breed. She could’ve kept herself as far removed from the entire issue as possible. And she didn’t? 

Cassie simply chuckled, kicking a leg and waving me close like she was gonna share a secret. “Let me tell you something, kid: the most important thing you can do? Is stand. When it’s all on the line, and something more than yourself is at stake, you stand. The most dangerous thing that can happen to change is a person who wants to live in calm waters, because they believe if they don’t make noise, the boogeyman won’t come looking for them. Tell me, did that work with the DUP?” 

I shook my head and she held up a hand as if to say see? “Bundling yourself up to protect from the cold isn’t going to change the weather, and lighting the smallest candle to not draw attention of the wolves won’t keep you warm either. A match or a bonfire, they’ll burn out all the same.” 

She put a hand on my shoulder. “Choose your own way to burn,” She quietly told me, like she was sharing sage old wisdom and trying to get it to seep into my bones with a gentle pat. Straightening, she said, “Now, I’ve got a good mile to walk to where I need to be to get picked up by my grandbaby, so I best get going. But you stay safe, alright?”

With a parting toothy grin, she turned to leave, and all I could do was watch her go and dwell on her words. So she did everything…just because she could? Because she felt like she should have? Regardless of the risks it posed to her, regardless of how she could’ve been arrested or shot or worse. 

Without powers, she still risked it all. 

“Jean!” Dad called from the other side of the van. “Come here for a second, I need to see Theresa’s location on your phone again.” 

With one last glance at Cassie’s retreating form, I turned away.

“The real damage is done by those millions who want to 'survive.' The honest men who just want to be left in peace. Those who don’t want their little lives disturbed by anything bigger than themselves. Those with no sides and no causes. Those who won’t take measure of their own strength, for fear of antagonizing their own weakness. Those who don’t like to make waves—or enemies. Those for whom freedom, honour, truth, and principles are only literature. Those who live small, mate small, die small. It’s the reductionist approach to life: if you keep it small, you’ll keep it under control. If you don’t make any noise, the bogeyman won’t find you. But it’s all an illusion, because they die too, those people who roll up their spirits into tiny little balls so as to be safe. Safe?! From what? Life is always on the edge of death; narrow streets lead to the same place as wide avenues, and a little candle burns itself out just like a flaming torch does. I choose my own way to burn.”