Claire heard a light knock on her door, expecting the promised meal. Swiftly rising from her chair and still fixing her hair, she opened the door, anticipating one of Gregor's maids with a tray. However, the sight that met her eyes was far from what she anticipated.

To her astonishment, standing in front of her was a tall man with piercing blue eyes and a rugged exterior. For a moment, she was taken aback, and her initial surprise quickly transformed into an unexpected rush of emotions.

"Luke?" she uttered his name in disbelief, and for a second, the man seemed to freeze.

"My apologies, have we met before?"

A faint smile touched her lips as she nodded, a mix of embarrassment and nostalgia coloring her expression. "Yes, but do come in. Please put the tray on the table." Hastily she tried to lock her hair, but did not manage to secure all, leaving a few blond strands to dangle about.

"I had not expected to see you here, bringing my meal and all." She smiled uncomfortably when his gaze met hers again.

"Well, I'm staying a few doors down, and since you also required a meal, I thought we could..." He narrowed his eyes, clearly scanning his memory. "I am truly sorry, miss, but I do not recall you. The patron mentioned your name is Hattygam, and I don't remember..."

"It's Nolan." Her cheeks burned, and her mouth went dry. "Please don't tell anyone." She could hear the floorboard creak as Cord stepped closer to her.

"You can't possibly be... Claire? Little Claire?" Her whole body tensed. "I'm not so little anymore."

"No! No, you are not. Wow, you have grown into a fine woman. I would never have guessed. Did you not have darker hair?"

Somewhat clumsily, she brushed one of the blonde hairstrings aside as she felt her heartbeat increase. She nodded, looked to the floor, and tried to regain her composure.

"We should have our meal." Avoiding his gaze, she tried to get past him towards the small table.

"Wait." His hand caught her gently by the arm. With the touch, a surge of intense emotions, a storm of butterflies and dread, erupted in the depths of her belly. "You surely can't be here alone. Is your father joining later today?"

A sudden heaviness struck Claire in the chest. "He is not," she whispered. The weight of the words felt like an anchor pulling her down, and she struggled to maintain composure. "Don't tell me you are in some sort of problem." She swallowed, her eyes fixed on the untouched meal. Cord's hands touched her, taking her by both arms, and his penetrating gaze urged her to look at him. "I'd help you. Tell me what kind of trouble you're in. Do you need me to talk to your father?"

A conflicted smile, laced with pain, appeared on her face. "You can't." She needed to swallow again, the lump in her throat growing. "Then I won't, but please tell me, Claire. I can clearly see you are struggling with something. I know it has been years... You're turning pale, Claire; come sit down." He guided her to the bedside. "I beg you, tell me what is wrong; I promise I'll not tell your father if you don't want me to."

A tear dropped off her cheek. She started to apologize, her voice quivering, while he took her hands in comfort. "Take a deep breath and just say what is on your mind. It will release you of this tension. Trust me, you will feel so relieved." She took a shaky breath, closed her eyes, and squeezed his hand as she brought the dreaded news. "He's dead." The words hung heavy in the air, a painful admission that echoed in the room. She opened her eyes and saw the growing disbelief on Cord's face. "My father is..." She almost choked on her words, tears flowing freely. Cord's tough exterior cracked, his features softening with a profound sadness. 

"Come here." He wispered taking her close in his arms as they faced the weight of the shared sorrow.

After an all-too-brief moment that barely dulled the pain of the news, Claire gently disentangled herself from the embrace. "My apologies; I shouldn't have let my emotions get the best of me." She wiped her eyes. "It's been some time, but it just hit me, you know?" A quick glance at Cord revealed his clenched jaw and a resolute expression, battling his own internal struggles.

"No need for apologies," Cord responded, a wistful smile masking the turmoil beneath. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes momentarily, and ran a hand through his hair.

"You mentioned it's been a while..." Claire nodded. "A few years now. I've never said it out loud like this. I've been putting on a brave front for my mother's sake."

"How's she holding up?"

Claire's gaze returned to the meal. "Like any wife who hears the news without knowing what happened or having a body to bury: devastated and heartbroken. We were fortunate that the women we've assisted all these years were there to reciprocate. I don't know what she would have done to herself."

Unconsciously, Cord's hand slipped into his vest pocket, where he had safeguarded Laura's ring. The weight of Nolan's wife's grief struck him with a pang of guilt.

"Claire?" Cord edged a bit closer. "Why are you here when you should be with your mother?"

"'Cause my father's murderer is here." Her eyes shifted toward the rifle standing in the corner.

A silence had fallen between them, a silence Cord did not want to break as he watched Claire absently pick at her meal. She hadn't clarified her earlier statement, and he patiently waited for the opportune moment to inquire about why she believed Howard Nolan's murderer resided in Shadow's End.

"Can I ask you something?" she ventured after a moment. Cord gave her a small nod. "Do you have a wife waiting for you somewhere?" Caught off guard by the directness of her question, he coughed.

"Why do you want to know?" She met his gaze. "No, I do not, and I bet there is no husband searching for you either." She continued toying with her food.

"I didn't want to end up like the women we shelter," she confessed, her words hanging in the air. "Frightened to ever see their man again or heartbroken because they never will."

"They are not all that bad, you know." Her brown eyes peeked at him. "The men in this world." A faint blush tinted her cheeks.

"You know, I wouldn't be the man I am today if it weren't for your father. I was somewhat lost. He brought guidance, focus." She followed his gaze to the rifle.

"If he didn't want me to use it, he would not have taught me." She sighed. "I know what you are going to say: he taught me to defend myself. But this is different. This is..." She dropped her fork and leaned back. "I need to do this, Luke. You have no idea how my mother's been since we got the news."

"Your mother knew the risk and still married him."

"I'm not talking about his... She took it very badly when they said they would stop looking. That they would drop the case. That... that they wouldn't waste resources to look for his body, while he had always been there. While he had..." Cord took her trembling hand. "Who told you?"

"Don't shoot the messenger." A wry smile crossed her face. "Evert Serrano told us." "Evert?" "He followed in his father's footsteps." "I have to admit that I would never have thought that mischievous boy would become a lawman." "He tries..." She looked down at Cord's hand still holding hers. "He told me he is hiding here. He had a little too much and a loose tongue. I bet he doesn't even remember telling me anything."

Cord became aware of how long he had been holding her hand and let go, ignoring the disappointment showing on her face.

"Could he have been making things up? He's always tried to impress you in one way or another." "He's married now. Three children. The liquor made him spill the truth he wasn't even supposed to know. Some rich guys forced the investigation to stop. They said father had been sticking his nose in the wrong things and got himself killed. Evert said that they were doing their own investigation and that the selfish act of my father almost jeopardized that."

"Hold up, Claire. I can't fully follow? Was Howard acting on his own?" She nodded. He had been told to let the Marshalls deal with the group of smugglers he had found. But after she had died, father wanted to take revenge." "A lot must have changed to make your dad a vengeful person. Who is she?"

Claire took another deep breath. "We don't know. He and Darren just stumbled on a group that were keeping slaves. Shooting started, and one of them, a girl, caught a bullet. Father said she jumped to save him and possibly end her life at the same time. Anyway, the smugglers ran off, and the girl ended up with us. She was already in a bad shape even without the bullet." New tears started to well in her eyes. "He didn't have to..." She clasped a hand in front of her mouth and tried not to submit to the grief again.

Cord wanted to ask her so many more questions but did not have the heart to cause her even more pain. It would have to wait.

"Claire, can I just ask you to..." "Don't take away my revenge Luke. Don't. I've come here for a reason, and I'll do it." "Hear me out." "No! You have no idea how it feels to not know what happened only to find out his murderer is living a fancy life in this place. Protected by a drunk asshole of a commander who doesn't give a shit about us, the real victims!"

"Do you trust me?" "Let me have my revenge." "I will, Claire. You know I cared for your father. If his murderer is really here, he will pay for his actions." "By my hand. Not yours." "Fine. Just answer me this: have you thought about the consequences."

She was confused. "He is a murderer; it would be justice. And to be frank, I don't care if they lock me up; I owe this to my father." "I'm not talking of those consequences. Tell me, have you ever taken a life?"

"I'm more than capable..." "It changes you. It marks you forever; it haunts you in your dreams even when it's for all the right reasons." A knowing gaze met hers. "The act is easy. It's what comes after that is the challenging part. So, I want you to promise me you will not act until you have made peace with yourself that it will change you forever."

"Luke," Claire spoke softly, breaking the silence. "Are you telling me this because you've been through it yourself?"

Cord met her gaze, his eyes holding a mix of calm assurance and concealed pain. "In a way," he replied evenly.

Claire observed him intently. "The first time you took a life... is it something that still haunts you?"

Cord paused, his eyes drifting into the distant recesses of memory. "Yes," he admitted quietly. "But that's a path I walked when I was very young. It won't change anything now."

She could sense the reticence in his response and a desire not to delve into the details. Still, her curiosity persisted. "Why did you do it? Why did you take that first life?"

He sighed, a heavy exhale carrying the weight of untold stories. "Some things are better left buried in the past. It won't alter where I am now."

Claire pressed a bit further, her voice gentle. "I just want to understand. If you can share, I want to know why. What led you down that path?"

Cord offered a faint smile, appreciating her curiosity. "Claire, sometimes life takes us to places we never planned to go. The why doesn't always change the outcome. I was young, and circumstances pushed me to make choices I never thought I would. But dwelling on it won't alter the journey I've walked since."

She nodded, respecting his boundaries but still holding a glimmer of curiosity. "I understand. It's just... Maybe it could help me make sense of things."

Cord's gaze softened, and he reached out, placing a reassuring hand on hers. "Knowing my past won't change the decisions you need to make. You have your own choices ahead of you, and the reasons behind my actions won't change that. I just want to make sure you think them through before it is ireversible."

Her eyes held a mixture of gratitude and determination. "I appreciate that. Thank you for being honest with me. I just want to do the right thing. My father doesn't deserve being forgotten."

He nodded, understanding the weight of her words. "You have a strong heart, Claire. Trust yourself, and when the time comes, make the choice that feels right for you."

The relentless rain poured, saturating every layer of clothing as Commander Edward Smith led his men into the dim, hilly terrain near the crossing. The squelching sounds of boots on muddy ground accompanied their weary trudge.

Smith's expression mirrored the gloomy weather as he overheard the discontent among his men. "This is pointless," muttered one, raindrops drowning his words. "The girl's been out here for hours, probably dead by now."

A determined voice cut through the skepticism. "Watch your tongue. The commander's daughter went missing on a day like this. We owe him this effort."

Yet, skepticism lingered. "Ain't no girl surviving in this weather for so long. It's a cursed day, I tell you. Just like the blood-feather story."

Mention of the blood-feather curse sent shivers through the group, unease exchanged in glances. Another added, "There were no feathers near the boy, means the curse is still out there waiting for someone."

Fear spread like wildfire among the men. The notion of being the next victim was enough to make them abandon hope. Murmurs of curses and revenge echoed through the rain-soaked woods.

Smith's jaw clenched. "Enough! We stick to the mission. Search every nook and cranny. The girl may be out here, and we owe it to her and her family to find her."

Yet, as he continued, the unease persisted, and it became clear that the men's minds were set. "Commander, we can't ignore the signs. We'll find nothing but trouble out here. Let's call it off before we're cursed too."

Smith's gaze flickered between the anxious faces of his men. With a reluctant nod, he conceded, "Fine. We're done here. Head back to town."

The men wasted no time, relief evident in their hurried steps as they retreated from the cursed terrain. Smith, however, lingered, feigning a solitary search. The downpour washed away hope of finding tangible clues, but he remained, driven by a desperate determination to uncover the mystery surrounding the doll with Laura's ring.

Deep in thought, he wandered, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Why here? Why now? The nagging feeling that someone played a twisted game haunted the rain-soaked air.

Lost in contemplation, Smith scarcely noticed that not all his men had departed. Paddy, the Irish scout with a touch of Indian blood, and a small handful of others remained. Paddy stepped forward.

"Commander, can I speak freely?"

Smith nodded, appreciating the loyalty of the few who chose to stay. "Go ahead, Paddy."

The scout hesitated before sharing his thoughts. "I don't believe there's a girl out here, sir. This feels like a trap, meant to make you chase shadows while someone else slips away in the dark."

Smith furrowed his brow, considering Paddy's words.

"I think there's something else at play here, sir. Someone wants you off balance. Maybe they're trying to draw you out, make you vulnerable."

"Why now?"

"Well, it's a bit odd that I found it the day two men from the council arrived." Smith stopped and looked at his scout. "Are you suggesting someone knew they were coming?" "I don't know, sir. A lot of people use the crossing, someone was bound to find the doll. And last time mister Cord was here, the council almost shut you down, sir." "If they shut things down, it will be bad for everyone." Paddy stepped a bit closer. "What if the council got the idea you are not the one running this place?"

"Hey! Who's there?"

Smith's head snapped toward the source of the yell, his eyes straining to pierce through the curtain of rain. Through the misty veil, a figure emerged briefly—a man with feathers adorning his hair. But before anyone could react, the mysterious figure vanished like a wisp of smoke.

The shout had caught the attention of the men, who now peered into the wet wilderness, confusion etched on their faces. "What's going on?"

"I saw someone!" the shout echoed again, this time more uncertain. "An Indian, I think. But he's gone now."

Doubt crept into the voice, and skepticism spread among the men like a contagion. "You sure about that?"

The man rubbed his eyes, second-guessing the fleeting image he had witnessed. "I... I thought I did. But with this rain and all, I'm not so sure."

Smith, too, scanned the surroundings, his mind grappling with the possibility of a specter haunting the rain-soaked woods.

"Keep your eyes peeled, but let's not jump at shadows," Smith ordered, his gaze lingering on the dissipating mist. The men nodded, exchanging uncertain glances, their shared skepticism casting a veil of uncertainty over the search.

As they resumed their trek through the wet terrain, Smith noticed that Paddy had left his side, leaving his words of warning unexplained. Blayke had given him a similar warning: the council doubted his control. Perhaps Cord was right not to trust anyone.