I look away as emotion swells inside me. The barn is quiet except for the shuffle of horses and the soft creak of wood settling around us.
“What if she doesn’t want that?” I ask. ”What if she’s unwilling to risk it all for this life we’re offering?”
“Then that’s her choice. But we don’t make it for her by deciding ahead of time that one of us has to disappear.”
I drag a hand over my jaw.
For a second, I see us as boys, long before we understood what family could cost. Mason had scraped knuckles and a busted lip because someone at school said I was too quiet. I sat beside him on the porch afterward, cleaning the blood off his face while he pretended it didn’t hurt.
He has always fought hard. Always sacrificed.
I look toward the house. The kitchen windows are lit. I can already smell coffee and the sweetness of baking.
Janey is up.
She’s in our kitchen, already moving around our house like it’s home. We don’t have long to prove that what we’re offering is worth risking everything for. But we’ll try.
Mason follows my gaze.
“She fits,” he says quietly.
I nod. “Yeah.”
“And you’re already trying to make yourself fit less.”
I close my eyes for half a second. “Maybe.”
“Well, stop.”
Despite everything, a low chuckle slips out of me. “That's your whole argument?”
“Pretty much.”
Mason picks up the pitchfork again, but his gaze stays on me. “We offer her everything. She decides what she wants. That’s the deal.”
I nod slowly. “That’s the deal.”
“And no more martyr bullshit before breakfast.”
This time, I do laugh. “Fine.”
“I mean it.”
“I said fine.”
He studies me for another second, then seems to accept it, though I know Mason well enough to know he’ll remember this. He’ll keep one eye on me now.
We finish the last of the early chores and head back toward the house. The morning sun has lifted over the pasture, turning the dew bright on the grass. Buck barks from inside, one hoarse warning that probably means he has heard us coming and wants credit for guarding the place.
The smell of coffee grows stronger as we step onto the porch.
Under it is cinnamon.
I pause with my hand on the doorframe.
Mason looks back. “You coming?”
“Yeah,” I say.
