“Not even a little,” he agreed.
She found pancake mix in the pantry beside an unopened bottle of real maple syrup, because apparently Arden stocked safehouses the way other people stocked vacation rentals—with terrifying competence and emergency syrup.
“Pancakes?” she asked.
Mac put one hand over his heart. “You are speaking my language.”
“You’re Canadian. Isn’t your language maple syrup? If you want some, we’ve got that, too.”
“That is a hurtful stereotype,” he said, pretending to wipe away a tear. “But yes.”
Maren laughed before she could stop herself.
It felt strange to laugh after the last two days.
She pulled down a mixing bowl. “Do you know when Colin will be back?”
There. That sounded casual enough.
Mostly.
Mac leaned one hip against the counter, arms loose, body relaxed. But his gaze sharpened a fraction.
“He went to meet with Kyle and the others. Same crew from yesterday, I’d imagine. Elissa on the phone. Flint digging into things.” He paused, then added, “They’ll want to see what came in overnight.”
Maren cracked an egg into the bowl. The shell split unevenly and one jagged half fell in after the yolk.
Perfect.
She dug it out with her finger. “Right.”
“Maren.”
She looked up.
Mac’s voice was still warm, but quieter now. “Colin’ll tell you what he can when he gets back.”
What he can.
Not everything.
Her stomach tightened. Because they were looking into Mira. Into everything her twin had apparently hidden so well that Maren had raised Juni for almost four years without knowing any of it. What if Mira had not just been brave? What if she’d been involved? What if she’d lied to Maren because the truth was ugly?
What if they find something worse?
Oh, God. What if they find out something horrible about Sean?
What if the people who had opened their gate yesterday looked at whatever Flint and Elissa uncovered and decided Maren and Juni were no longer grieving family but liabilities?
She poured milk into the bowl too quickly, splashing some onto the counter.
Mac looked at the spill, then at her.
“I’m guessing,” he said mildly, reaching for a towel, “that you almost poured too much milk in, then saved the batter by purposefully pouring the extra on the counter.”
Maren let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “Yes, exactly. How’d you guess?”
He didn’t push. Instead, he wiped the counter while she stirred.
