“Do they know we’re here?”

“They know Nathaniel disappeared from Mercer Farm.”

“That doesn’t answer me.”

Caleb looked across the snowy valley.

“No. But they will.”

He was right.

Three days later, a rider arrived.

He wore a dark wool coat and a polished silver badge.

Territorial Marshal Amos Crowe.

Caleb’s hand moved toward his rifle.

Crowe raised both hands.

“If I wanted you dead, Roar, I wouldn’t ride into your yard alone.”

“You might if you were stupid.”

Crowe glanced toward Eleanor.

“He always this friendly?”

“Yes,” Eleanor said.

“Good. Thought it was personal.”

The marshal entered the house.

He placed an envelope on the table.

Caleb opened it.

His face changed.

“What is it?” Eleanor asked.

“Court order.”

Crowe removed his hat.

“Judge Voss signed it yesterday.”

Caleb handed her the document.

Eleanor read the words twice.

Nathaniel Hayes was legally classified as an abandoned minor under territorial guardianship.

The order demanded his immediate return.

Eleanor laughed.

Not because anything was funny.

Because fury had become too large for silence.

“They stole him from my body and now call him abandoned?”

Crowe’s expression darkened.

“I didn’t write it.”

“But you’ll enforce it?”

“No.”

Caleb looked at him sharply.

Crowe continued.

“Harland Voss has been signing placement orders for twelve years. Every child who passed through Mercer Farm has one.”

Caleb leaned forward.

“You believe the ledger.”

“I believe three dead witnesses, six missing families, and the fact that somebody shot at me yesterday.”

Crowe opened his coat.

A bandage wrapped his left shoulder.

“They’re coming.”

“How many?”

“At least twelve.”

“When?”

Crowe looked toward the windows.

“Before tomorrow morning.”

They arrived before midnight.

Horses thundered through the valley.

Caleb extinguished every lamp.

“Upstairs,” he told Eleanor.

“No.”

“This isn’t a debate.”

“Then stop talking like you’re my husband.”

His eyes flashed.

“I am your husband.”

“Legally.”

“That is exactly why I’m telling you to take the children upstairs.”

Eleanor stepped closer.

“And I am telling you that I spent ten years keeping seven children alive with almost nothing. Don’t mistake motherhood for helplessness.”

Crowe coughed softly.

“I’d listen to her.”

Caleb glared at him.

Eleanor loaded Samuel’s old revolver.

Caleb stared at the weapon.

“You know how to use that?”

“My husband taught me.”

A shadow crossed his face.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “He would have.”

They barricaded the house.

Sarah took the younger children into the stone cellar.

Thomas refused until Eleanor seized his face between her hands.

“Courage isn’t standing where bullets fly.”

“But Caleb—”

“Courage is protecting people who need you.”

Thomas swallowed.

Then nodded.

Nathaniel would not move.

Caleb crouched before him.

“Nate.”

“No.”

“You know the cellar.”

“They’ll take me.”

“They won’t.”

“They always come back.”

Caleb gripped his shoulder.

“Listen to me.”

Nathaniel’s breathing accelerated.

“No one owns you.”

The boy stared into Caleb’s eyes.

“Not Mercer Farm. Not Voss. Not me. You belong to yourself. Understand?”

Nathaniel nodded.

“Go with Thomas.”

At last, he obeyed.

Minutes later, torches appeared beyond the barn.

A voice shouted.

“Caleb Roar!”

Caleb opened the front door.