“Gid’s here, Dad. We can pull you out.”

He stayed silent, but his expressions flickered so fast that I couldn’t tell what he was feeling or thinking. Sadness? Anger? Acceptance? Even happiness?

“Just reach up with your other hand.”

Gideon leaned forward as far as he dared and lowered his hand.

“Dad?” I begged. “I can’t do this for you. It’s your choice.”

Gideon’s gaze snapped toward me and then back to Dad before managing to lower his hand another inch.

“You have to choose, Dad.”

This was it: the moment he’d wanted. The decision was his. Another section of the ledge collapsed, ending right before my arm started, but I still didn’t look away from those eyes. Sullivan’s eyes.

His lips pursed, and his brow furrowed. Then he roared and swung up with his left hand. Gideon caught it, and we both immediately lifted, scraping Dad’s arms, then his chest and stomach on the edge of the ledge as we pulled him back onto the solid surface. Once he got to his knees, he fell forward, and we all rushed for the door, where Willow waited.

Dad looked back at me and gave me a singular, knowing nod, and I knew that was all he’d ever have to say about what just happened.

“I think this belongs to you, young lady,” he said, pressing something into Willow’s palm before walking through the door.

“I need a beer,” Gideon muttered, following Dad.

I grabbed Willow to me, holding her against my chest, not caring that her helmet dug into the layers of my jacket to press the skin beneath. “I love you.”

“I love you,” she repeated, her hands clutching the fabric at my back.

“Let’s get you out of here.” I could go the rest of my life and never see this portion of the mine again. That would be fine by me. She nodded, and we walked back into the chamber.

“Look what your dad found.” She held up her unicorn pin. It was a tiny thing, barely the size of a quarter.

“Look at that.” I brushed my thumb over her palm, but when I looked up, she was focused on something to her right. The door. “What is it?”

She tucked the pin in her pocket and turned to face the heavy iron mass. Then she brought her hand down from her chin, as if she were measuring something, and when she reached mid-chest, she moved her hand to the same level on the door.

“Cam,” she whispered.

There were two darker spots in the rust. Blood.

Rage swept over me, holding hands with a knowledge I never wanted. And it all made sense. All of that day, those that came before, and the ones that followed.

Our eyes locked, hers wide with shock, and I shut the door, letting it close with a satisfying slam.

I knew where that fucking map was.