It feels startlingly, terrifyingly…natural.
I clear my throat and push off the doorframe, because standing there staring at the two of them is not going to make any of this less complicated. “Morning,” I say, and my voice comes out softer than I intended.
Will’s eyes find me immediately. Theyalwaysdo. “Morning, Mills.”
Dad glances up over the rim of his glasses as I step into the kitchen. “Blueberry pancakes,” he says, like he’s already answered whatever question I might have had. “I made enough for three.”
Will lifts his mug slightly in silent confirmation.
“I can see that,” I say, moving toward the table and pulling out my chair. “This is… ambitious for a Sunday.”
“Thought I’d give you the day off,” Dad replies, sliding a plate toward me. “Sit.”
The table feels smaller than usual once we are all seated, plates close enough that passing the syrup becomes shared rather than an individual choice.
Will nods toward the stack. “They smell incredible.”
Dad gives a brief grunt that could mean anything from appreciation to dismissal.
“They’re edible,” he says. “That’s the goal.”
I wrap both hands around my mug and take a careful sip, pretending this arrangement feels entirely normal.
Dad refills Will’s coffee before he even asks.
“So,” Dad says after a few minutes, cutting into his pancake with the same precise movements he applies to everything. “How long have you been with Defiance?”
“Just under two years,” Will replies.
“And the prospecting suits you?”
“It does.”
Dad studies him for a second, then nods, as if that answer passed inspection. “The mine started smaller than this table,” he says, almost conversationally. “One shaft. Six men. More debt than sense.”
Will leans forward slightly. “What changed first? Output or investment?”
Dad’s fork pauses mid-air. “Output,” he says. “Investment follows proof. It always does.”
Will nods, absorbing that like it’s data he intends to use. “And the extraction process now?” he asks. “Still primarily mechanical, or have you integrated more advanced survey tech?”
Something shifts in my father’s expression.
Interest.
Genuine interest.
“We’ve updated the surveys,” Dad says, setting his fork down entirely now. “Geological mapping’s more precise. You can’t afford guesswork at depth.”
Will asks another question.
Dad answers with satisfaction, like he doesn’t often get the chance to talk shop with someone outside his own field.
At one point, Dad gestures with his knife toward the window. “You see that ridge? We nearly lost everything drilling there in 2016.”
“What happened?” Will asks.
“Misread the composition. Cost me three months and two good men.”
