A beat passes.
Then two small nods.
“Good.”
I open my door before either of them can hesitate. Seth is already out on the other side, moving without a word, scanning the perimeter before shifting his attention back to them.
I pull Ryan’s door open and step back just enough to give him space to move. Seth opens Elise’s side at the same time.
“Out,” he says.
They climb out slower now, the fight gone quiet, replaced with something closer to shock.
Seth stays close behind them, positioning himself between them and the open drive without making it obvious. I fall in on the other side, closing the gap so there’s nowhere to slip through. We move them forward together, straight toward the house, no pauses, no chances to second-guess it.
We aren't giving them room to run again.
Chapter 69
Brooke
Four weeks later, the house doesn’t feel like it's holding its breath anymore.
I’m in the kitchen with a mug that has gone cold in my hands, listening to the soft scratch of pencil against paper drifting in from the living room.
Elise is sitting on the floor with her back against the couch, sketchpad balanced on her knees. One leg is tucked beneath her, the other bent, foot flat on the rug. Her shoulders are pitched forward with concentration. She presses too hard when she draws. I notice that early on. The graphite smears under the side of her hand, darkening parts of the page she probably doesn’t intend to shade.
Seth stops when he sees her.
He doesn’t announce himself or comment right away. He just stands there, quiet, watching the movement of her hand like he is studying a mechanism rather than a picture.
After a few seconds, he clears his throat.
“You using an H for that?” he asks.
Elise stiffens, but she doesn't look up. “Yeah.”
“That explains it,” he points to the pencil beside her sketchbook. “It’s going to look flat unless you compensate with pressure. Try a 2B.”
She finally glances at him, suspicious and assessing. The same look she gave me during the first week. Then she reaches into the pencil case, fingers lingering for a second, and switches pencils.
Seth sits on the edge of the coffee table instead of the couch. He doesn’t crowd her. He doesn’t hover. I didn’t realize how much that matters until I feel my chest ease watching it.
“You’re still pressing too hard.”
Elise bristles. “I’m not.”
“You are,” he replies calmly. “You’re digging into the paper instead of letting the graphite do the work.”
She glares at him, jaw tight, then looks back down. Her grip loosens anyway. The line softens.
She doesn’t comment on the difference, but I can tell she notices it.
“What are you drawing?” he asks, not demanding, not prying. Curious in a way that doesn't feel invasive.
She hesitates. Then she tilts the sketchpad just enough that I can see it from the kitchen.
It’s Samantha.
