"They want the Apache pacified, the land open for settlement, the whole frontier brought under proper control. One inquiry isn't going to stop that momentum."
"So why bother?" I asked.
"Because small acts of justice matter. Because truth matters, even when it doesn't win. And because I've lived long enough to know that the easy path, the path of least resistance, is usually the wrong one."
He sipped his whiskey. "In three days, I'll conduct a fair inquiry. I'll examine the evidence. I'll listen to testimony."
"And I'll issue a ruling based on facts, not politics. But Garrett, you need to prepare for the possibility that it won't matter."
"That even if I find in Kuruk's favor, the army will find another excuse. Another burned ranch. Another dead settler."
"They'll get their war."
"Then what's the point?"
"The point is that some people will know the truth. Some people will remember that the Apache tried for peace and were rejected."
"And maybe 20 or 50 or 100 years from now, when someone writes the history of what happened here, they'll have the truth to work with. That's all we can do. Plant seeds and hope something grows."
I thought about that as Quinn and I rode back to my ranch that evening. About seeds and growth and the long, uncertain path of justice. Takala was waiting when we arrived. She'd ridden back earlier with some of the warriors who'd posted themselves as guards around my property.
She met me at the door, and for the first time since she'd arrived, she reached out and took my hand. "You did well today," she said.
"I didn't do anything. Just stood in the way."
"Sometimes that is enough."
That night, she didn't go to her room. She sat with me by the fire, and we talked about small things and large things and all the things in between. About what would happen at the inquiry. About what we'd do if Hollis came for us.
About the future, if we had one. When the fire burned down to coals, she stood and held out her hand. "Come," she said. I followed her to the bedroom that had been hers.
She closed the door behind us and stood looking at me in the dim light. "I am not ready for everything," she said quietly. "But I am ready for this."
"To not be alone. To be with someone who understands loss and chooses to live anyway. Is that enough?"
"Yes," I said. "That's enough."
We lay down together. Not as lovers. Not yet. But as two people who'd found their way to each other through fire and blood and the long, hard work of forgiveness.
Outside, the guards kept watch. Somewhere to the south, Hollis planned his next move. Somewhere to the north, Kuruk prepared for whatever came next. But in that moment, in that room, we were safe.