“I’m coming back.”
“I figured.”
I hang up and immediately regret how much fear sits under the movement of my hands. Bailey’s already watching me. So is Hadley. Ivy goes still in that way she has when her focus sharpens to a point. Lila reaches for her keys without waiting to be asked.
“What happened?” she says.
I stand too quickly, the chair scraping back hard against the patio boards. “Someone was at the inn.”
Silence falls over the table.
Hadley is on her feet before I fully finish the sentence. Bailey’s already grabbing her purse. Lila asks one practical question, “Are we calling Holt?” in a tone that suggests the answer matters.
I should say no. I should say I can handle it.
Instead, because I’m tired of pretending I’m not affected, I say, “Yes.”
Chapter Twenty-two – Holt
The station is too quiet when my phone vibrates. That’s the first thing I register. Not the screen lighting up beside the half-finished report in front of me. Not Beckett’s voice carrying from the apparatus bay where he’s trying to convince Ray that reorganizing the supply cabinet by snack preference is “a morale initiative.” Not the low, steady scrape of Mac’s pen from his office where he’s still finishing paperwork that should’ve been somebody else’s problem three signatures ago.
My phone shifts once more against the table, and I look down, expecting a text from Hadley, or my mother, or one of my brothers, needing something stupid and immediate, and very much not immediate at all.
It’s Lark. She never calls unless something’s wrong. My whole body reacts before thought catches up.
I answer on the first ring. “What happened?”
Her voice comes through fast and tighter than I’ve ever heard it. Not panicked. Worse, somehow. Controlled in a way that means she’s working hard to keep it from becoming panic.
“Nolan found footprints near the carriage house,” she says. “And the latch on the side gate was open.”
The report in front of me goes out of focus.
“When?”
“Recently.” She takes a breath. “He said they weren’t there this morning.”
I’m already standing. The chair legs scrape hard against the concrete, and three heads lift at once from around the room. This isn’t about the inn. Or the footprints. Or the possibility that something bigger is happening under all of this. It’s abouther, standing somewhere she shouldn’t have to question her safety. And the fact that the thought of her doing it alone isn’t something I can tolerate.
“You still there?” she asks.
“Yeah.” My voice sounds different even to me. Flatter. Colder. “Don’t touch anything.”
There’s a pause on the line. “I didn’t.”
“You alone?”
“No. Bailey, Hadley, Ivy, and Lila are with me.”
Some part of me unclenches at that, but not enough. Not nearly enough.
“Stay put,” I say. “I’m coming.”
Another pause, this one shorter, lighter somehow, though maybe I’m imagining that because I need to.
“Okay.”
I end the call and look up. The station has changed shape in the last ten seconds. Beckett is already crossing the room. Ray has set his mug down. Mac stands in his office doorway with one hand braced against the frame, his expression giving away nothing and everything at once.
