The storm howled outside, rattling the windows. Snow pelted against the glass like tiny bullets, creating a white noise backdrop to our temporary domestic scene. Scout had settled by the fireplace, nose tucked under his tail, occasionally opening one eye to check on us.
“You think Margret knows about the gold?” I asked, shifting to find a more comfortable position for my leg.
Lana returned with two paper plates and some napkins. “She knows something. The question is how much.” She set the plates down and leaned against the table, arms crossed. “And I keep wondering about that note. Why send it to you specifically? You’re Jake’s brother, but you’ve only been here for what, a month and a half?”
I nodded. That had been bothering me, too. “Someone’s been watching. They knew I was here, knew I was injured.” I drummed my fingers on the table, mind racing. “But they also seem to think I can help them.”
“Or they’re setting you up,” Lana pointed out, her eyes meeting mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. “Luring you into something dangerous.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” I muttered, memories of past operations flashing through my mind—dark alleys, whispered promises, the weight of a weapon in my hand.
The oven timer beeped, and Lana went to retrieve our dinner. I watched her movements, the careful way she tested the food’s temperature, the practiced flip of her wrist as she transferred the nuggets and fries to our plates. Something was soothing about her efficiency, her quiet competence.
“Ketchup?” she asked, holding up a bottle.
“Please.”
She brought the plates to the table and sat across from me again. The food was simple but smelled amazing—or maybe I was just starving after the day’s adventures.
“So,” she said, dipping a fry in ketchup, “what’s your plan for tomorrow? More treasure hunting?”
I nodded, taking a bite of a chicken nugget. “Weather permitting. We should check at least one more site, see if there’s a pattern to what Wolf left behind.”
“And if the storm doesn’t let up?”
“Then we study what we’ve found so far. Try to make sense of that journal.”
Chapter 7
Caleb
We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes; the only sounds were the howling wind outside and Scout’s occasional snoring. It felt strangely normal, this moment of quiet domesticity amidst the chaos of the past few days. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d shared a meal like this with someone—no agenda, no mission parameters, just... being.
“You never did tell me,” Lana said suddenly, breaking the silence. “What kind of ‘security consultant’ carries a gun and knows how to pick locks?”
I met her gaze, considering how much to reveal. There was something about her that made me want to tell her things I rarely shared. Maybe it was the way she looked at me—direct, unflinching, like she could handle whatever truth I might offer.
“The kind who used to work for people who don’t officially exist,” I said finally. “Joint task forces, special operations, places where the rules get... flexible.”
Her eyebrows raised slightly, but she didn’t look surprised. “Military?”
“Started there. Then the private sector. Then somewhere in between.” I took another bite, chewing slowly. “I was good at it. Too good, maybe.”
“What made you stop?”
The question hit harder than I expected. Images flashed through my mind—blood on concrete, a phone call in the night, Jake’s voice telling me to come home.
“A job went sideways,” I said, the words feeling inadequate for the weight they carried. “People died who shouldn’t have. I realized I’d crossed lines I never thought I would.” I set down my fork, my appetite suddenly diminished. “So I walked away and went to help Mikhail.”
Lana nodded, her expression thoughtful rather than judgmental. “And now you’re here, recovering from a gunshot wound and hunting for century-old treasure.”
I couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped me. “Life takes some interesting turns.”
“Tell me about it,” she murmured, and I wondered about her own story—the parts she hadn’t shared yet.
The lights flickered suddenly, the house groaning as a particularly strong gust of wind slammed against it. We both looked up at the ceiling, then at each other.
“Power might go out,” I said, already mentally cataloging the supplies we’d need. “There should be more firewood on the back porch, and I saw lanterns in the hall closet.”
