“Do you ride?”
“Nope,” he says cheerfully. “I have no desire to plummet to my death off the back of a giant animal that could stomp me to death.”
“Says the man who flies fighter jets.”
“Planes are way safer than horses.”
“I don’t know if that’s true.”
As we keep walking, he points out various crop fields, and the vineyards in the distance. “Orchards are down there.” He gestures at a distant rise at the edge of the village. “And up there is the solar field you saw—it powers the entire valley. There are backup generators, too, but we try to rely on the sun as much as we can.”
I nod, impressed by what they’ve built here. The community is entirely self-sustainable.
We pass a wooden chicken coop and a goat enclosure, then round a corner to find a handful of cottages set far apart. I notice Gray quicken his pace, but his laid-back demeanor doesn’t change, at least not until the front door of one of the cottages swings open.
A middle-aged woman with blond hair appears in the doorway, waving at us. “Grayson!” she calls.
His entire body stiffens. When his gaze lands on the woman, I feel the shift in the air. The tension. His good humor evaporates as if a switch has been flipped.
“Who’s that?” I murmur.
“My aunt.”
The woman hurries down the path from the house. When she reaches us, she looks as if she wants to embrace Gray, her arms lifting slightly, but whatever she sees on his face has her hands dropping to her sides.
“I didn’t expect to see you here today,” she says, an awkward note in her voice.
“Just giving a tour,” he says, his own voice cool and distant. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him sound like that before. “Wren is new to the Dagger. I’m showing her around the valley.”
I step forward with my hand extended. “Hi. It’s nice to meet you.”
She gives my wrist a brisk shake. Her hands are cold to the touch and rough with calluses. “Likewise. I’m Jenni, Grayson’s aunt.”
“We should get going,” he says abruptly. “Lots more to show Wren.”
My gaze slides between them. I glimpse a flicker of desperation in Jenni’s eyes, as if she wants to argue, beg him to stay. But his posture remains rigid, every muscle locked in place. It’s obvious he’d rather be anywhere but talking to this woman. Whatever their history, it’s not a pleasant one.
“All right. I won’t keep you then,” Jenni says, defeat settling over her face. She edges away. “Don’t be a stranger.”
He doesn’t even say goodbye as he takes my arm and guides me down the dusty road.
The second his aunt is out of sight, he lets out a ragged breath, clenching and unclenching his fingers as if he’s trying not to make a fist.
“Hey…” I don’t want to pry, but I can’t help it. “What was that? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. We’re not close, that’s all.”
Clearly.
Rather than push for answers, I simply nod and keep walking. Though I make a mental note of the encounter, because this is the first time I’ve ever seen a real crack in his playful, carefree exterior.
We continue down the road, Gray explaining more of valley life. “Our main laundry facilities are at the Dagger. But some folks prefer to wash their things here.” He points toward a cluster of trees. “There’s a nice clean stream beyond those trees.”
We pass several barns, supply sheds, a schoolhouse. There are very few people outside, but the ones we do see are quick to smile or wave in greeting. Everything seems to move at a slower rhythm here, lacking the fast pace and tension of life on a military base.
Beyond the school is a grassy sports field, and I spot a group of children kicking a ball around. A young boy, about five or six years old, spots us and breaks away from the group.
“Grayson!” he yells, running toward us.
