The drive to Evergreen, Montana would take them more than ten hours. Just before they left Battle Ground, Kidd called.
The moment Ithilien heard his voice through the speaker, her shoulders tightened without her meaning them to.
"Yeah, we left early this morning," Marco said. "Yes, she made it. But I don't have to tell you she was in shock… She's right here. Want to ask her yourself? Sure."
He held the phone out to her.
For a moment she didn't move. Then she sighed quietly and took it.
"Kidd," she said.
Silence lingered on the other end for a heartbeat.
"Are you okay?" he asked. "Dorian said your arm looked pretty bad."
"It'll heal."
A pause.
"Mhm… Next time let Tauriel handle the fieldwork. You'd be a lot safer in Eugene."
Ithilien took a slow breath before answering.
"Thank you."
"So where are you heading now?"
"To Evergreen. We're hoping the old archives might still contain something useful. If we can identify a few possible suspects, we might finally move this investigation forward."
Her tone stayed calm, professional. She focused on Fenrir—anything but Kidd's voice.
"Keep me posted," he said. "The moment you learn anything."
"Of course."
For a few seconds neither of them spoke. They just listened to each other breathe.
"Ithilien…" he said quietly.
She waited.
"Come home as soon as you're done."
His voice was so soft she almost missed it.
Then the line went dead.
She held the phone to her ear a second longer, staring ahead at the road.
"Doesn't sound like he's thrilled we're doing this on our own," Marco muttered.
"Probably not," she said.
But her thoughts were still on Kidd's voice. On something she hadn't quite understood in it.
Only a few days later did she realize what it had been.
Desperation.
Just before dawn, Evergreen, Montana looked like a town caught between night and morning—as if it hadn't quite decided whether to wake up yet.
The road leading in was nearly empty. Ithilien drove slowly, the headlights cutting through pale bands of fog drifting over the asphalt. The air carried the bite of the mountain night and the scent of wet pine.
Far off in the distance, the dark outline of the mountains rose against the sky, their slopes swallowed by low clouds.
Evergreen lay in a broad valley surrounded by forests. At this hour it looked frozen in time: rows of wooden houses with porches, shuttered storefronts, and a handful of streetlights casting dull orange pools of light across the empty road.
The hum of the engine was the only sound.
They passed a twenty-four-hour gas station. The neon sign flickered weakly, as if it were just as tired as the night itself. Inside, the clerk had fallen asleep with his head resting on the counter.
Farther down the street stood a small bar with a rusted metal sign and an old pickup truck parked outside—probably belonging to someone finishing a shift at the lumber mill.
A thin gray light was beginning to seep over the horizon.
The sun still hadn't risen.
Marco glanced out the window.
"Nothing's changed," he said quietly.
Evergreen had always been like this—small, quiet, isolated. A place where families had lived for generations and strangers were noticed immediately.
The perfect place to hide something.
The car turned onto a narrower road leading toward the older part of town. The houses stood farther apart here, surrounded by tall spruces. Frost shimmered on the grass.
Smoke curled lazily from one of the chimneys. Someone had already woken up and lit a fire.
At the end of the street stood Jeff Martinez's house.
A low wooden building with a wide porch and a single porch light still glowing above the door.
As if Jeff had been expecting them.
Ithilien slowed and pulled the car to the curb.
The engine died.
Silence rushed back in.
Marco glanced at the folder lying between them on the seat.
The Fenrir Project.
The sky above Evergreen was slowly brightening, but the night still lingered between the trees.
"If Jeff kept the rest of the files," Marco said, "this is where everything starts."
Ithilien switched off the headlights. The street sank into half-darkness, leaving only the yellow glow above Jeff's door.
They stepped out of the car.
The air was sharp and freezing. When Ithilien inhaled, she could smell damp earth, pine resin, and faint wood smoke drifting from somewhere down the street.
The slam of the car doors echoed louder than it should have in the empty town.
Marco studied the house.
It looked exactly the same—low, wooden, with a wide porch and a railing that had once been painted white. Now the paint peeled away in long flakes. A metal wind chime hung from one of the posts, shifting gently in the breeze with a faint glassy sound.
They crossed the creaking porch boards.
Each step sounded too loud in the predawn silence.
Marco knocked twice.
They waited.
For a moment the house remained completely silent.
Ithilien was about to speak when heavy footsteps sounded behind the door. Slow. Careful.
Someone stopped just on the other side.
The lock clicked.
The door swung open.
Alpha Martinez stood in the doorway.
He was older than Marco remembered. His hair had gone almost entirely gray, and deep lines carved across his face. But his eyes were still sharp—dark and alert.
He studied them from beneath a heavy brow.
The last people he expected to see on his porch on a January morning were the Greenan siblings.
Truth be told, he hadn't expected to see them ever again.
"Sorry to drop in like this, Jeff," Marco said. "But we need to talk about the Fenrir project."
Martinez didn't say a word.
He simply stepped back and opened the door wider, letting them inside.