He glanced at me. “Dr. Thomas, perhaps you’d like a few minutes to acquaint yourself with the house. The kitchen is through there,” he gestured behind him, “the staircase leads to the bedrooms. And do mind the goat—he patrols regularly and rarely stays in his pen.”
Notebook clutched to my chest, I rose. My eyes lingered once more on the photo above the hearth—Penny’s wild hair, my mother’s blurred disapproval, the chicken poised like royalty.
The ache pressed in, familiar and comforting. But beneath it stirred something new, something stubborn. Was it fear, perhaps, or possibly anticipation or excitement that lurked beneath the surface? I wasn’t sure, but I couldn’t wait to find out.
If Penny believed I could belong here, then maybe—just maybe—I would.
Austin’s POV
The moment Milly disappeared up the stairs, the air in the sitting room shifted.
Mr. Browne waited until her footsteps softened overhead, then drew a second envelope from his satchel, sealed with mulberry wax. He set it on the table between us.
“For you,” he said simply.
I broke the seal. Inside: Penny’s handwriting, bold and looping in purple ink.
Austin, you’re not here just for numbers.
The words pressed heavily against my chest.
You’re the Protector. You’re here to keep Milly safe—not from herself (though good luck with that), but from others who would use her kindness against her. She deserves a chance. Your job is to give her that chance.
I kept reading, my jaw tight.
Do not tell her. She must believe she is trusted, free to fail and find her feet. If danger rises—family, outsiders, whoever—step in. Quietly. I trust you to know when. Balance, Austin. You’ve always known how to keep balance.
The page trembled in my grip before I realized it was my hand.
I’d walked away from protection. Numbers were cleaner. Numbers never screamed in the dark. Balance sheets don’t haunt you, but memories of the screams and the knowledge of what could have been, do.
Mr. Browne’s voice cut gently into the silence. “Milly’s aunt was very clear. This duty falls to you alone.”
I swallowed. “And if I fail?”
“Then the land is lost. It will be carved apart—sold in pieces, stripped for profit. The house sold, the acres parceled. That was their plan.”
“I could have worked the numbers remotely.”
“No,” Browne shook his head with a faint smile. “Penny was old school. She wanted you on-site because her books aren’t digital, someone had been quietly bleeding assets for years, and you can’t protect Milly from behind a camera a thousand miles away.” Like it was the simplest truth in the world.
I didn’t need him to name names. Harold. Arnie. I could see Harold’s face even now—slick smile, eyes darting like a thief who never left fingerprints. The kind of man who’d gut this place while swearing he was saving it.
I folded the letter carefully, pressing the crease flat with my thumb.
Out of the corner of my eye, the crates stacked neatly by the door caught my attention. Delivered ahead of us, just as arranged. Plain cardboard to Milly’s eyes. But I knew better. Inside were cameras, motion sensors, encrypted comms—tools for watching the edges of a place too large for one man to guard alone.
She hadn’t looked twice. She wouldn’t. To her, they were just tax-season documents and auditing manuals, or whatever she imagined I shipped by the crate.
But they were mine to manage. Mine to deploy.
Above us, a door closed. Milly’s voice floated faintly down, light, unguarded. Probably talking to the hedgehog. The sound carried a warmth I hadn’t expected, and with it came the ache of responsibility pressing harder.
Protector. Numbers Man. Secret weapon.
Whatever Penny had called me, I’d accepted the role the moment I walked out of my office in Denver. And whether Milly ever knew or not, I wouldn’t let her down.
Milly’s POV
