Ren Frost's Arc

Chapter 9 of 13

By dawn they had a name and an address. The only lawyer who would touch the case before Christmas worked out of a rundown cabin at the edge of town, its roof sagging, its windows patched with tape. Ren and Jason climbed the crooked step and knocked. The lawyer waved them to a crowded desk and slid a thick packet across the wood. Then she set a small leather book beside it, a pale crystal pressed into its cover. "Sign this affidavit first," she said. "Quit-claim. The deed transfers to your partner before I file. I don't fight for clients who can walk away mid-trial." Jason went still. Ren picked up the pen. Two days left. Sixty-three animals in a cave. She thought of every square she had not yet crossed out, and pressed the nib to the page. The cabin door banged open before the ink dried. The old seller stood there, hat crooked, breath fogging, a folded paper shaking in his fist. "Don't," he wheezed. "The fine print. Read it. If any name but yours touches that deed, the land snaps back to me. Every fence. Every shed. Every animal standing on it." Ren lifted the pen. Her hand hung in the air above the affidavit, frozen. The lawyer's face went hard. "Then I can't file," she said. "Sign or I walk. Those are the terms." Jason set his hand over Ren's wrist. "Don't sign," he said quietly. "We'll find another way. I'm not worth the herd." Ren put the pen down. The lawyer closed the packet and pushed it back across the desk. Outside, the seller was already gone. Two days left, no lawyer, and a deed that would devour everything she loved if she shared it. Ren folded the affidavit into her coat and stepped into the cold, already counting who she could call before dark.