“Give me my clothes back!” she cried — and the Apache smirked, “Then come take them from me.”

Chapter 3

The soldiers found them on the seventh day.

Emily heard the horses first—a distant thunder rolling across the mesa, growing louder, closer, shaking the ground beneath her feet. She was gathering wood at the edge of Koa’s camp, her hands full of dry branches, her mind still tangled with the dream she had woken from: *Koa, standing in the river, reaching for her, his fingers brushing hers before the current swept him away.*

She dropped the branches and ran.

Koa was already standing at the camp’s edge, his bow in hand, his warriors gathering behind him like shadows called to flesh. His face was calm—that infuriating, unshakeable calm she had come to both hate and need.

“Go to the shelter,” he said without turning.

“How many?”

He paused. “Enough.”

She did not go to the shelter. She walked to his side and stood there, her shoulder brushing his arm, her heart hammering so hard she was certain he could hear it.

“I’m not hiding,” she said.

He looked at her then—a long, searching gaze that seemed to peel back every layer she had built around herself. In the six days since he stole her dress, they had circled each other like wary animals, testing, retreating, advancing. He had taught her words in his language: *túsă* for stone, *tú* for water, *shash* for bear, *shí* for *I am.* She had taught him nothing, but he had learned anyway—learned the way she bit her lip when she was nervous, the way she hummed when she thought no one was listening, the way her eyes softened when she looked at the sunset and forgot he was watching.

“Stay close,” he said.

It was not permission. It was surrender.

The cavalry crested the ridge in a wave of blue and brass. Twenty soldiers, maybe more. Their commander was a man Emily recognized—Captain Aldridge, from Fort Bowie. She had seen him once, weeks ago, when she stopped for supplies. He had looked at her the way men looked at stray horses, measuring her value, calculating her use.

He looked at her now with something else entirely.

“Miss Hart.” He reined his horse to a stop, his eyes moving from her face to Koa’s, then back. “Step away from the savage.”

Emily’s blood turned to ice, but her feet did not move.

“Captain Aldridge,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. “These people saved my life.”

“These *people*,” he repeated, the word curling with disgust, “are hostiles. You’ve been missing for over a week. We assumed you were dead.” His eyes narrowed. “It appears you were merely… occupied.”

The implication hung in the air like smoke.

Koa stepped forward. “She came to our land by accident. She is unharmed. Leave her with us, and we will not fight.”

Aldridge laughed. “You think you have terms?”

“I think you do not want to bury your men in a canyon they do not know.”

The silence that followed was sharp enough to draw blood. Emily could feel the tension vibrating through the air—the soldiers’ hands tightening on their rifles, the warriors’ fingers brushing their bowstrings, the horses shifting, restless, scenting blood.

Then Aldridge spat.

“Take the woman. Kill the rest.”

The world exploded.

Emily did not remember dropping to the ground. She did not remember picking up the rifle Koa shoved into her hands. But she remembered the recoil—the violent jolt against her shoulder, the roar that swallowed all sound, the acrid smell of gunpowder filling her nostrils. She remembered firing again, and again, and again, until her ears rang and her vision blurred and the only thing keeping her upright was the warmth of Koa’s body beside hers.

“Fall back to the rocks!” he shouted.

She ran. Bullets whined past her head, chipping stone, kicking dust. She dove behind a boulder and pressed her back against it, gasping. Beside her, Koa notched an arrow, drew, released—and a soldier crumpled fifty yards away.

“How many?” she gasped.

“Seven down.” His voice was calm, but she saw the blood dripping from his left arm—a graze, shallow but bleeding freely. “Thirteen left.”

“We can’t fight thirteen.”

“No.” He met her eyes, and for the first time, she saw something beyond calm. *Desperation.* “We can’t.”

He grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. They ran.

The canyon swallowed them. Its walls rose sheer on either side, red and ancient, narrowing into a passage that barely fit two people abreast. Behind them, the soldiers’ shouts echoed, distorted, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.

“Where are we going?” Emily gasped.

Koa did not answer.

He led her deeper into the stone maze, around corners, through dry creek beds, past caves that exhaled cold air like the breath of the earth itself. She stumbled, her legs burning, her lungs screaming, but his grip never loosened. He pulled her forward, through a final cleft in the rock—

And they emerged into a canyon that took her breath away.

It was enormous. A hidden valley, ringed by cliffs that caught the afternoon light and turned it gold. A stream ran through its center, lined with cottonwoods and wild grass. And at the far end, nestled against the cliff face, stood a village.

*His* village.

“Oh,” Emily breathed.

Koa released her hand. “Welcome to my home.”