Marianne Keeshig — Point of View
The border crossing was quiet at mid‑morning, the prairie wind sweeping across the empty lanes. Marianne flashed her credentials, nodded through the questions she’d answered a hundred times, and drove south toward Red Rock Flats. Leah sat in the passenger seat; her laptop bag clutched to her chest like a shield.
“Are you okay?” Marianne asked.
“No,” Leah said honestly. “But I’m ready.”
Marianne nodded. That was enough. The clinic came into view — small, sturdy, familiar in the way all reservation clinics were. Marianne parked beside a row of tribal police vehicles.
“Remember,” she said gently, “they don’t know us yet.”
Leah exhaled. “They will.”
They stepped inside.
\###
Eliza Morningstar — Point of View
Eliza Morningstar looked up when the clinic doors opened. Two women entered — one tall, steady, wearing an RCMP jacket with the quiet authority of someone who’d spent years navigating systems that didn’t want her. The other, smaller, sharper, carrying a laptop bag, as if it contained the truth.
Marianne Keeshig.
Leah Gagnon.
Eliza had never met them, but she knew who they were. She stepped forward. “Officer Morningstar, Red Rock Flats Tribal Police.”
Marianne extended her hand. “Sergeant Keeshig, Indigenous Policing. This is Leah Gagnon, civilian analyst.”
Leah gave a small nod. “Hi.”
Eliza gestured toward the consultation room. “They’re waiting.”
\###
Elijah Greyhawk — Point of View
Elijah Greyhawk stood when the door opened. He recognized Marianne immediately — not personally, but by reputation. Cross‑border cases had a way of creating ghost stories among tribal officers. She was one of the few who chased the ghosts instead of ignoring them.
Evan Blackhorse straightened beside him, arms crossed. Samantha Wolf‑Iverson closed her laptop, eyes sharp with anticipation. Eliza stepped aside as Marianne and Leah entered.
For a moment, no one spoke. Six people. Six strands. One room. Elijah broke the silence. “You came fast.”
Marianne nodded. “A survivor changes everything.”
Leah swallowed. “And she said the name.”
Samantha stepped forward. “NorthStar.”
Leah’s eyes widened. “You heard it too.”
\###
Samantha Wolf-Iverson — Point of View
Samantha felt the shift in the room — when her private database, her years of quiet work, suddenly became part of something larger. She opened her laptop again. “I only have one match. One. But it’s enough to show a pattern.”
Leah stepped closer. “I have more. Not here — not yet — but I have files. A lot of them.”
Marianne nodded. “We’ll share everything once we’re settled. But first, we need to hear what you’ve found.”
Samantha looked at Evan. “Show them.”
\###
Evan Blackhorse — Point of View
Evan placed the evidence bags on the table: the scrap of blue fabric and the new vent cover. Marianne leaned in. “Where did you find these?”
“Boundary Ridge,” Evan said. “Blue house. Back porch. And the vent was new. Something’s running inside.”
Leah’s breath caught. “Aiyana said, ‘blue house.’”
Evan nodded. “She wasn’t wrong.”
Elijah added, “Tracks too. Two sets. One stops abruptly.”
Marianne’s expression hardened. “Lifted.”
“Yes,” Evan said.
Leah looked between them, her voice barely above a whisper. “This is the same pattern I’ve been tracking. The same one tied to my brother.”
Samantha’s heart clenched. “Jonas.”
Leah nodded.
\###
Marianne Keeshig — Point of View
She looked around the room: Eliza’s steady resolve, Elijah’s field‑honed instincts, Evan’s quiet certainty, Samantha’s meticulous data, and Leah’s fragile but fierce determination. Six people who had been working alone for too long.
“This isn’t a coincidence,” Marianne said. "This was a coordinated effort," Marianne said. “Structured. And cross‑border.”
Eliza nodded. “We know.”
“We don’t possess the files at the moment,” Marianne added. “But we have enough to know this: NorthStar isn’t a company. It’s a network.”
Elijah’s jaw tightened. “And it’s still active.”
Leah stepped forward. “And I can prove it. Once I get my equipment set up.”
Samantha closed her laptop. “Then we start now.”
\###
Eliza Morningstar — Point of View
She watched all six individuals who had never planned to meet, never expected to collaborate, and never imagined their cases were linked. But here they were. In a clinic on Red Rock Flats. The survival of the girl was the reason. Because she said two words. Because the truth had finally crossed the border.
Eliza took a breath. “Welcome to Red Rock Flats,” she said. “Let’s get to work.”