At 6:00 a.m., on the morning the prison planned to execute Ramiro Fuentes for murdering his wife, he asked for one last thing: to see his eight-year-old daughter. Three hours later, little Salomé leaned into his ear and whispered that her mother had hidden the real proof inside Bunny, the stuffed rabbit she never let go. Ramiro went white, kicked back his chair, and screamed that he could finally prove he was innocent.

The abandoned ranger station smelled of old pine needles, damp timber, and rot.

Outside, the storm had reached its peak. Heavy thunder rolled across the mountain peaks, shaking the glassless window frames of the small wooden cabin.

Inside, Colonel Méndez sat by the wall, his service weapon resting on his knee. Clara Mercer was crouched near a small kerosene lamp she had found in an iron locker, using her silk scarf to dry Salomé’s soaked hair.

The girl sat quietly on an inverted wooden crate, holding her cream-colored rabbit in her lap.

"How much battery is left on the phone?" Clara asked, glancing at the black case resting on a crude wooden table in the center of the room.

"It was at twelve percent when we unlocked it," Méndez replied without taking his eyes off the dark forest outside. "I turned it off to save power. We only get one shot at displaying that footage to Judge Reed."

Suddenly, a twig snapped outside the cabin's east wall.

Méndez moved instantly. With the fluid grace of a veteran soldier, he rose to one knee, bringing his pistol up to eye level, aiming directly at the wooden doorway.

"Clara, get the girl behind the fireplace," Méndez ordered in a low whisper.

Clara grabbed Salomé’s hand and pulled her behind the heavy stone hearth just as the creaky wooden door was pushed open.

A tall figure stepped through the threshold, drenched from head to toe, wearing a blue guard jacket over a stained yellow jumpsuit.

Méndez didn't lower his weapon. "Hold it right there!"

The man froze. He raised both hands slowly, the light from the kerosene lamp catching his broad face, his hollow cheeks, and the deep, dark circles around his eyes.

"Colonel," Ramiro said, his voice raspy from cold and exhaustion. "It's me."

Méndez’s eyes widened slightly. "Ramiro? How the hell did you get out of Santa Marta?"

"Gomez," Ramiro said, taking a ragged breath as he leaned against the doorframe. "Alvarez tried to kill me in my cell. He had orders to make it look like an escape. Gomez gave me his keys."

From behind the stone fireplace, a tiny voice broke through the sound of the falling rain.

"Daddy?"

Ramiro dropped his hands. He didn't care about the pistol still pointed at his chest. He didn't care about the mud soaking through his shoes or the cold wind blowing through the broken door.

He dropped to his knees as Salomé ran out from behind the hearth, her small arms throwing themselves around his neck with enough force to knock him back against the wooden floorboards.

"I knew you'd come," Salomé sobbed into his shoulder, her voice finally breaking after hours of terrifying silence. "I told Mama you'd come."

Ramiro buried his face in her dark hair, his massive shoulders shaking violently as he wept without restraint. "I'm here, baby. I'm here. Daddy's here."

Méndez lowered his weapon, clicking the safety back on with a soft tap. He looked at Clara, who was wiping a tear from her own eye.

"Well," Méndez said, walking over to the door and peering into the dark forest. "Now we're all fugitives."

"Not for long," Clara said, stepping over to the table and picking up the evidence case. "The Fourth Circuit Court opens its docket at 8:00 a.m. Judge Reed’s private residence is only four miles from the bottom of this trail."

"We can't take the main road," Ramiro said, lifting Salomé up into his arms. "Alvarez put out a red notice. The state police have checkpoints every two miles along the highway."

"Then we don't use the highway," Méndez said, pulling a worn topo map from his jacket. "We use the old coal rail line. It runs through the mountain tunnel directly into the back lot of the courthouse district."