I stare at the schematic in his hand. Victor Ash. Gideon’s father. The last keeper of the quarry. A man everyone in this town described as dutiful, reliable, devoted to his work.
“April said Gideon loved him,” I say quietly.
“Love and loyalty don’t prevent someone from doing terrible things. Sometimes they’re the reason for it.”
I take the schematic from him and fold it carefully, tucking it into my jacket. We go through three more boxes but find nothing else that connects directly to the secondary wards—just more maintenance logs, more measurements, more of the meticulous record-keeping that defined Victor Ash’s life as a keeper.
We leave the way we came, slipping past the bar while April is occupied with a group at the far end. She catches my eye as we reach the door and nods once. Acknowledgment. Complicity.
Whatever we found, she’s chosen not to know about it.
The drive back to Caroline’s is quiet. Silas stares out the passenger window, his reflection ghosted in the glass. I keep my eyes on the road, but my mind is somewhere else entirely—turning over the schematic, the missing Ash family records, the wall in Silas’s memory where his mother’s death should be.
Too many pieces. Not enough puzzle.
When I pull up to Caroline’s house, the lights are on in the living room. Through the front window, I can see movement, shapes shifting on the couch. I recognize Griffin’s profile, the broad line of his shoulders. And tucked against him, smaller, wrapped in what looks like my flannel—Caroline.
Silas sees it too. Something shifts in his expression, there and gone, too fast for me to name.
We get out of the car and walk to the door. It’s unlocked—Griffin must have left it that way for us. We step inside, and the warmth of the house wraps around us, along with the smell of pizza and something else underneath. Honey and cinnamon, faint but present. Her scent, finally starting to fade.
Griffin looks up from the couch. Caroline is asleep against his chest, her legs tucked under her, one hand resting on his stomach. Thistle is wedged into the space behind her knees.
“Hey,” Griffin says, low enough not to wake her.
“How is she?” I ask.
“Good. Tired. We had pizza, watched another movie. She dozed off about twenty minutes ago.”
“Amara?”
“Already left. Said she needed to get some things from home.”
I frown. “She didn’t wait for us?”
“Said she’d text you. Didn’t want to wake Caroline.”
I pull out my phone. Sure enough, a text from Amara, sent fifteen minutes ago:Headed home. Need clean clothes and my toothbrush. Talk tomorrow.
I should have been here. I should have driven her home myself instead of chasing dead men’s secrets through dusty boxes. Amara doesn’t ask for much, but when she does, I’m supposed to be there.
“I need to go,” I say.
Griffin’s eyebrows rise. “Now?”
“Amara’s alone. I told her I’d drive her.”
“Damon, it’s almost midnight. She’s a grown woman.”
“She’s my cousin. And she left because I wasn’t here.”
I look at Caroline’s sleeping face, at the way her lips are slightly parted, at the bruise on her collarbone just visible above the flannel. Every instinct tells me to stay, to climb onto that couch and wrap myself around her and not move until morning. But Amara is out there somewhere on the road, or already home, and I told her I’d handle things.
“I’ll be back,” I say.
“Damon.” Silas’s voice stops me at the door. I turn. He’s still standing by the couch, looking at Caroline with an expression I can’t read. “Be careful.”
“I’m driving to the manor.”
