He knew where to find his father's home star by heart now. It had taken several years, but his dad was infinitely patient. One evening, Paul jokingly asked why it was taking Scott so long to memorize it. He had simply gestured at the million points of light, clustered in random patterns across the black night. His father laughed and said that Scott would make a terrible pilot. He had to agree.

This night was colder, a breath of air shifting the pine needles above him, whispering secrets only nature knew. His head rested on the only soft patch of grass in the clearing, and he had a fleece blanket wrapped around him. It did not warm the iciness in his heart; and the beauty of the woods, once fascinating, barely registered. He was afraid of no animal, because no animal feared him. He shared the strange connection his father did̶̶̶—that baring of the mind, the internal goodwill and desire to harm nothing. Well, he might make an exception for Fox. He could see his father's disapproval as clearly as if he were present.

Rage and grief held his body rigid, all the fury of years boiling inside. Six months…six months since Agent George Fox had captured his father, and here he was, helpless and weak. His ability to connect with the sphere had grown in the nine years he had spent on the run with Paul. He could access the energy within easily, but manipulating it for complex tasks still eluded him. His father said he had greatly improved and would continue to do so, but he needed it now. Twenty-three years old, and he was still the teenager he had been forever ago.

They had never found Jenny. Three years ago, Scott finally broached the idea of giving up. Despair was a black hole, and it was draining his soul. Paul merely looked at him a long time, assessing and saying nothing. Scott had glanced away, ashamed.

"I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for. I understand. I share your pain, Scott."

He had shifted away, hiding the sudden glisten in his eyes.

"So what now?"

"We keep looking." Always straight to the point, his father.

Six months of being alone, searching and sitting in libraries with his eyes glued to the screens until they watered. Leads promised and then disappeared. He had no license, no ID. How could he, a fugitive from those that wished to cage him and his dad forever? He knew how to drive and had his GED. College was only a dream, hovering in a wishful future with no reality. He lived in the streets, in the woods, sometimes in a sewer drain. He hated those nights most of all.

He reached up, felt the roughness of his beard, fully grown with no razor on hand to shave it. Who even cared? No one paid him a glance, not even a flicker of interest. The world moved on, ever distant and always cold. The government never said a single word about the being they held imprisoned. No one except the FSA probably knew anything, their secrets safe from Scott or any reporter who might hope to win a Pulitzer.

Two weeks ago, the break finally came—a mention of a hidden base in Montana, just a blurb on an obscure website devoted to alien lore. It was all he had, a scrap of a hope. So he traveled, mostly by foot, sometimes by bus with the money earned from odd jobs that were offered mainly by small town stores and farms. He even spent a few days on a ranch, mucking stalls. The owner asked him to stay. He declined and left early on the third morning.

He crossed the border east of US Route 310 and arrived at Custer National Forest, where the alien fanatic had claimed there was secluded lab, but Custer had over a million acres of land. How could he possibly cover it all? He had already spent a few weeks here and found nothing that looked like a military building. He had a tent, a luxury item he and Paul had acquired from a grateful victim of a nasty fender bender. He had all of their camping supplies, along with some canned food and a fishing rod. What he did not have was the skill he needed to use the sphere to find Dad. The ability to sense his father had been present from their first month together, but this was not a few blocks of a suburban neighborhood. This was an ancient land, and the memories of Native Americans were still embedded in every pine and rock.

The moon began its downward path to the horizon, scattering beams that split the dark closeness of the trees. He needed sleep and the energy to follow the creek nearby at first light. His compass rested in his pocket, and the map was tucked in his backpack with the tent rolled neatly at its side. He had not wanted it tonight. The stars were too bright, ever drawing his gaze to that single place his father called home, a world he would never see.

The forest was quiet now, the cool breeze having settled for the night. He closed his eyes and visualized another place, one of many he and Paul Forrester had stayed at over the years. Memories were all he had. The pictures Paul had taken were in his duffle bag when he was captured. Scott was sure Fox had them posted on a wall like photos of a crime scene. All he had was the picture of his mother, safely wrapped and stored in the side pocket of his pack.

He felt it more than heard it—a kind of electric brush across the hairs on his arm. His eyes flew open, and he sat up fast enough to make his head spin. He heard nothing. However, it was still there, like charged air before a storm. He scanned the forest, fingers groping in his jeans pocket for the only real defense he had, the sphere. The silence pressed close, unthreatening. The hairs on his arm shifted, as if something had moved in front of him, sidestepping to the other side of the clearing. He tracked the sensation, the sphere now gripped tightly within his fist. He felt disquiet at his lack of fear. Whatever was out there, it meant him no harm, but he had no clue how he knew this.

Minutes passed, the presence fading away. His heart slowed, and he eased back onto the ground. The entire incident could not have lasted more than a minute, but it was definitely gone, whatever it had been. Even the towering trees were still, arms forever reaching toward the sky.

He fell asleep fifteen minutes later, curled on his side and snuggled in the blanket. The moon passed behind the pine needles above, and the forest darkened, shielding the man from all nearby creatures except one. It remained for a while, long enough for pink ribbons to stretch across the sky. Then, it disappeared into the growing dawn.