Finn Ashford's Arc

Chapter 3 of 12

Finn walked back through the woods with the scroll case tucked under his jacket. The map pressed against his ribs with every step. He kept to the edge of the tree line where the snow was thinner. Halfway home, a shiver ran down his spine. He stopped and looked behind him. Nothing moved. Out here it should only be him, the wind, and the foxlings. He listened harder and heard neither wind nor paws. He heard only his own breath. He cut left off the trail and circled wide through the pines. On a ridge above the pond he saw it: an old fire tower standing crooked against the gray sky. He had passed it a dozen times and never thought of it. Now a thin gray smoke curled from a pipe near the lookout. Someone had made a perch up there. Someone with a clear view of the pond and the house below it. Finn dropped low and moved fast. He kept the trees between himself and the tower until the slope took him down toward home. His chest burned. He told himself the tracker might still be up in the tower, watching the wrong window. He told himself he had time. He broke from the trees and stopped hard in the snow. Boot prints crossed the yard in a straight line to the porch. The treads were deep and clean, not his own. The front door of the weathered house stood open. A strip of curtain shifted in the draft. He drew the hammer from his belt and crossed the yard with the prints under his feet. On the doorknob, swinging in the cold air, hung a thin gold bracelet with a single red stone. He knew the bracelet. He had seen it on a wrist months ago, in a town two valleys over, on a woman who had asked too many questions about what he carried. He had not given her his name. She had given him hers and he had forgotten it. He had not forgotten the stone. He lifted the bracelet off the knob and closed his fist around it. The chain was warm. She had been here within the hour. Finn stepped into the house. The rooms were empty. Drawers hung open. His spare blanket lay kicked into the corner. She had searched and she had left the bracelet on the knob so he would know she had searched. It was not a gift. It was a message. She wanted him to understand that she could find him, and that she wanted him to follow. He slid the bracelet into his pocket beside the map. He had a face now, and a direction. He hoped she was alive when he caught up to her. He meant to find out either way.