Red Rock Flats Tribal Substation—Eliza
The morning over Red Rock Flats carried a brittle stillness, the kind that made the air feel heavier than it should. The sun was still low, casting long shadows across the gravel lot outside the tribal substation. Dust hung in the air, suspended like it wasn’t sure whether to rise or settle. Even the birds seemed hesitant, their calls muted, as if the land itself was holding its breath.
Eliza Morningstar was already waiting when Carter Hayes and Leah Gagnon pulled up. With her arms folded and her braid over one shoulder, her expression was tight. She didn’t wave them over.
“They’re gone,” she said as soon as they stepped out.
Hayes frowned. “Solstice?”
Eliza nodded once, then turned toward the man standing beside her. “This is Chief Samuel Greyeyes,” she said. “Tribal Leader. He’s been dealing with Solstice longer than any of us.”
Samuel Greyeyes inclined his head in greeting. He was in his mid‑fifties, tall, with a quiet presence that made the air around him feel steadier. He had hair streaked with silver, and he tied it back neatly. His eyes — the color of river stone — missed nothing. He carried himself like a man who had spent decades navigating the space between law enforcement and community, between crisis and ceremony, between what he could fix and what he had to bury.
He extended a hand to Leah first. “Ms. Gagnon.”
His voice was low, even, deliberate — the voice that didn’t need volume to command attention. Then to Hayes. “Agent Hayes.”
Hayes shook his hand. “Chief.”
Greyeyes nodded once. “They left before dawn. All trucks. Every trailer. Every man.”
Leah scanned the horizon. The road stretched out like a scar across the land, empty and too quiet. “No warning?”
Greyeyes’ mouth tightened. “No. They didn’t even bother to lock the community center they were using. Left the keys on the floor.”
Eliza added quietly, “They didn’t say goodbye to anyone. Didn’t settle their accounts. Didn’t even refill the generator they borrowed.”
Hayes exhaled. “They know Bergmann’s exposed.”
Greyeyes gave a humorless snort. “They don’t care about Bergmann. They care about invoices. And when the money stops, so do they.”
He turned and gestured for them to follow. Inside the substation, the dispatcher pulled up the last camera feed Solstice had left behind. The timestamp flickered:
01:22 — Perimeter cameras offline. 01:25 — Convoy departed.
The screen went black.
Leah leaned closer. “They wiped everything.”
Greyeyes nodded. “They’re good at disappearing. They’ve done it before.”
Hayes frowned. “Any sign they knew we were coming?”
Greyeyes shook his head. “No. This wasn’t fear. This was routine. They got the signal, they packed up, they left.”
Leah crouched near the tire tracks outside the substation. Deep grooves. Fresh. Heading north. The dirt was still soft where the weight of the trucks had pressed into it.
“They didn’t even try to cover their exit.”
Greyeyes stepped beside her. “Why would they? They will not take the blame. They never do.”
Leah looked up at him. “You’ve dealt with them before.”
Greyeyes’ expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes did — a flicker of memory, of frustration, of something older than this investigation. “I was Chief of Tribal Police for twenty years,” he said. “I’ve seen contractors come and go. Solstice is different. They move like they’re used to not being seen.”
Eliza added, “They don’t talk to anyone. They don’t ask for directions. The gas station is not where they buy coffee. They don’t exist unless they want to.”
Hayes rubbed the back of his neck. “They’re ghosts.”
Greyeyes corrected him quietly. “Ghosts don’t leave tire tracks.”
Leah stood, brushing dust from her hands. “Chief… did anyone see them leave?”
Greyeyes shook his head. “No. But we heard them.”
Hayes frowned. “Heard them?”
Greyeyes nodded toward the northern ridge. “Engines. A lot of them. Moving fast. They didn’t take the main road. They cut across the old logging trail.”
Leah’s stomach tightened. “Toward the border.”
Greyeyes nodded. “Toward Saskatchewan.”
Hayes’ radio crackled. He lifted it to his ear, listening. His expression shifted — not shock, but something colder.
He lowered the radio. “Leah. We just got confirmation.”
She straightened. “What?”
“The Saskatchewan site is still active.”
Eliza swore under her breath. “Already?”
Greyeyes’ jaw tightened. “Kids?”
Hayes nodded. “RCMP picked up heat signatures. Multiple. Small.”
Leah felt her pulse spike. “We need to move.”
Greyeyes stepped closer, his voice steady. “You will. But listen to me first.”
Hayes paused. Greyeyes looked between them. “Solstice leaving this fast? That’s not cleanup. That’s not a retreat. This is transition.”
Leah frowned. “Transition to what?”
Greyeyes held her gaze. “To whatever Bergmann’s been waiting for.”
The room went quiet. Outside, the dust finally settled on the empty road. The sun climbed a little higher, casting a harsh, unforgiving light across the land.
Leah felt it then — a shift in the air, subtle but unmistakable. The shift that meant the next move wouldn’t be a search or a rescue. It would be a confrontation. And Bergmann would be waiting.