Eliot had been driving for 10 hours. He could have flown back home, of course, but he didn't want to be stuck at a decades-late family reunion with no transportation, so in the end he'd decided on making the drive from New Orleans on his own. Parker had offered to keep him company, but with the details of their last road trip still fresh in his mind (she'd tried to climb out of the window while he was driving because she thought she saw a safe in the back of a passing truck—it turned out to be a toolbox), he declined.

He didn't mind the drive. It meant he could blast his favorite songs without having to listen to Hardison complain that country wasn't real music, or hear Sophie's attempts at singing along, or come up with answers to Breanna's thousands of questions, or listen to Harry's well-intentioned but boring anecdotes. It meant he could have the time to sort through the torrent of memories he'd been trying to deal with for the last 6 months.

It meant he could try to figure out what he was going to say to his father.

Static buzzed over the radio station he'd been listening to for the last two hours, phasing a Cinderella song over Johnny Cash's voice. Eliot was getting closer to home. He'd already turned off the interstate, following the old county highway that he'd driven thousands of times as a kid, and it wouldn't be long before he found the road to the house. Fifteen minutes, and he'd be face to face with his family.

Hey Pops, he pictured himself saying. 'S been a while.

He hadn't spoken to him in 30 years. He'd tried, here and there over the years, but after the third time he'd come back home with a six pack of beer he didn't drink, he gave in. Every few months he'd try a phone call, but they were never returned. It seemed like Isaac Stone had made up his mind about what kind of relationship he and Eliot would have, and there just wasn't anything Eliot could do about it.

At least, that's what he used to think. But then he'd run into his brothers in the Philippines, and against all odds they'd managed to reconcile. Maybe there was still hope for him and his father too.

Eliot took the next turn, smoothing his thumbs over the steering wheel to give himself something else to focus on besides the spike of nerves and adrenaline. He wasn't a kid anymore; his father had to know just by looking at him now that a physical altercation would be a bad idea. There was no need for his muscles to tense up in expectation of pain. No need for his gut to clench like it was doing. He was fine.

He forced slow, even breaths through his nose as he pulled into the familiar driveway he hadn't seen in years and parked the truck outside the house. It was embarrassing how much his stomach was rolling—he could face an army of terrorists without flinching, but the thought of talking to his father could make him sweat? Please. Eliot had defeated monsters far scarier than any he would find inside the house.

Including himself.

Resolved, Eliot unbuckled his seatbelt and reached for the door handle—just as his phone buzzed in his pocket. He squirmed to remove it and held it up, frowning at the caller ID. "Jake?" he answered. "What's up? I'm just about—"

"Change of plans," Jake said. His voice was rushed and distracted, which immediately set Eliot on edge.

"What's going on?" Eliot asked.

Jake spilled out an explanation that only gave Eliot more questions. "We got a clue about the Curator—she's going to be at an auction tonight at Fort Washita. We're gonna check it out."

"Who's we?"

"The other Librarians. And Alex."

Eliot drew the seatbelt back across his chest. "What time? I'm on my way."

"No, stay where you are. Alex is only coming because he's already here."

"I'm here, too. What time?"

"Eliot—"

"If you didn't want me to come, you shouldn't have told me where you were going."

There was a brief pause before Jake swore into the phone. "Fine. 7:00. Can you be there in time?"

Eliot started the truck and threw it into reverse. "Yeah. See you there."

He wasn't running away. He'd be back to face his family tomorrow, and this time he'd have the added comfort of his brothers beside him. Everything was going to work out.

Fort Washita wasn't far, not compared to the 10 hours he'd already driven. He'd been there a few times on field trips as a kid, and there were plenty of signs to follow as he got closer. Before long he was turning into an empty ride share parking lot about a mile away from the fort, pulling a beanie over his head before he jumped out of the truck. He locked it and shoved his hands in his pockets to protect them from the wind, huddling into the collar of his jacket as he started off in the direction of the fort.

He had a few hours before the auction was supposed to start, so he took his time scouting the area around the fort. The land was mostly flat, giving him few places to hide in the middle of the day, but as far as he could tell there wasn't anyone around. When he finally made it to the fort itself he found it empty. According to the sign out front, it was closed that day—which made sense, since the Curator wasn't going to hold an auction in the middle of tourist hours. He made his way slowly around each of the buildings, searching for any backup the Curator might have brought, but he found no one. There was no sound, and nothing else moved but the wind.

A lonely, forlorn feeling crept over him as he explored the ruins of what appeared to have once been a bunkhouse. He slowed, holding himself still and listening to the whistle of wind through the missing bricks in the wall. Something was watching him. He could feel its attention on him, cold and sharp, but no matter which way he looked, he couldn't find the source of the feeling.

Hidden cameras? Maybe, but it didn't feel like cameras. It felt like eyes... eyes that could watch him without danger of being seen themselves.

With his senses on high alert, Eliot eased out of the ruins and moved toward the Welcome Center, convinced at least that the Curator hadn't arrived with an army to surround the fort. He picked the lock on the back door (using the lessons and the lockpick set Parker had given him for Christmas 8 years ago) and moved his search inside, careful to avoid cameras. As well surveilled as these halls obviously were, Eliot felt himself relax as he silently cleared each room. Enclosed within the building, he no longer felt like anything was watching him, and he picked up his pace until he'd ensured that the building was as empty as the grounds.

He did the same with all the other buildings in the fort, until at last he returned to the Welcome Center—the only space large enough to host an auction, and prepared to wait.