When we landed in Alaska, everything felt too quiet.
Winter was only beginning to make itself felt, but snow already covered the landscape with an unsettling uniformity. A white blanket stretched across the runway—no recent marks, no visible footprints. From the outside, the place showed nothing out of the ordinary; whatever was hidden inside that old building could not be perceived at a glance. It looked like nothing more than a small airstrip for local aircraft, used by residents of the area.
The plane came to a smooth stop, and the engines slowed until they settled into a low, steady hum. No one stood up right away. We remained seated for a few extra seconds, as if getting up too quickly would be a bad idea.
The pilot stepped out of the cockpit. He was a dark-skinned man with a sturdy build, his movements calm and precise. When he spoke, his accent was immediately noticeable.
I could not explain why, but the way he spoke to me felt familiar. It reminded me of someone from the mine—the security supervisor who always appeared just before a detonation. The kind of person who never needed to raise his voice to impose order.
He went straight to Sophie and said the landing had been uneventful, that they would refuel and perform a routine check, and that it would take thirty minutes.
Sophie replied that it was fine and asked him to let her know if he noticed anything out of the ordinary. The pilot nodded and returned to the cockpit.
Eleonor turned toward Sophie.
"We need to talk to Aunt Maeve."
Sophie turned off her tablet.
"Please, I hope you have information."
She then indicated that we should go to the communications room.
We crossed the corridor from the plane. From the outside, the place looked no different from any other technical section: metal walls, dim lighting, simple panels.
Sophie activated the main system. The screens lit up one after another, displaying data streams and active communication channels.
Eleonor leaned against the wall with her arms crossed. I remained standing, silent.
Sophie indicated that the channel was open and that we could proceed.
Maeve's image appeared on the screen.
She looked tired—far more than usual. Her hair was pulled back carelessly, her face tense, but her posture steady. She did not look like someone on the verge of collapse, but like someone carrying far too much weight.
Eleonor studied her carefully and said she looked exhausted.
Maeve replied that she was, but that she was not the only one.
Sophie went straight to the point and asked what they had on what happened in Canada.
Maeve took a few seconds to respond, as if organizing the information.
She said they had confirmed some points, but others were still difficult to piece together.
Eleonor frowned and asked which ones.
Maeve took a deep breath and explained that they had been right. The eagle symbol belonged to a group that, decades ago, had discovered remnants—very similar to what happened in the past with the Nazis.
She paused briefly and continued. At that time, a traitor from the Orleans family had been secretly leading them. He used internal information, contacts, and resources that should never have left the archives.
She added that the group had been eliminated and that nothing operational remained—or at least, that was what they believed.
Eleonor remarked that this meant someone had resumed that work.
Maeve replied, or someone had never abandoned it completely, and that was what they were trying to confirm.
That explained how they moved, how much information they had—where Noah lived, my apartment. None of that was a coincidence.
There was a brief silence.
I asked how the world was reacting.
Maeve replied that it was complete chaos.
The screens behind her showed rapidly changing images. She explained that governments were contradicting one another, that security forces were trying to control people who were, for obvious reasons, frightened, and that information was leaking without restraint.
No one had a clear version of what was really happening.
Eleonor pressed her lips together and asked if there were attempts to cover it up.
Maeve replied that some were trying, but others were not even bothering anymore—and that when too many people see the same thing, silence stops working.
Sophie glanced at the clock on her wrist and said we had ten minutes left; we needed to take off again.
"I understand," Maeve replied.
She then looked at the three of us and asked us to be careful, and to contact her again once we reached Russian soil.
The connection was cut.
The room fell silent, broken only by the constant hum of the systems.
We returned to the cabin just as the engines began to power up again.
We took our seats.
The plane took off once more, leaving the snow-covered runway behind.
I looked out the window as the ground disappeared beneath us.
As I watched everything fade away, a thought forced its way in, impossible to stop.
Three years ago, when I left everything behind, I did not look back. I left wounded, convinced that the problem was the way they treated me.
I never truly understood their intentions.
What everyone felt was concern over having chosen me as the bearer.
Now I understood.
I can no longer keep running.
I have to accept my responsibility.
At that moment, I felt the mark on my back react, as if confirming that decision.
I looked at Sophie and Eleonor.
"Girls, I hope you can forgive me."
Eleonor asked why.
Sophie asked why as well.
I replied that it was for having been so weak three years ago, for abandoning my responsibility, and that now I knew everything had fallen on others—on them.
Neither of them responded right away.
The plane continued forward, steady and constant.
That was how we set course to meet the second guardian, while the chaos across the world was only just beginning.
This time, I will not run. There is no place left to escape without continuing to lose myself. For years, I mistook fear for freedom. Now I understand that carrying this burden is not a sentence, but a choice. And this time, I will stay.