The laughter didn’t die exactly. I just stopped hearing it properly. Same car. Same shape behind the wheel. Same stillness of someone who wasn’t going anywhere, just watching. My eyes went to the plate automatically, and I had my phone out before I’d fully decided to, typing the number in while I still had it clearly in view. Oregon plates. I repeated them twice in my head to be sure.
I kept my voice easy. Kept my face easy. Kept laughing at the right moments while Elizabeth finished her story, while Harper pulled her keys out, while we walked back toward the car at a pace that was natural enough not to signal anything. Behind us, I heard the sedan’s engine turn over softly. I didn’t look back.
The drive back to Sweetbriar was quiet in a good way, the road dark and easy between the two towns. I watched the trees blur past my window and held the plate number in the back of my mind like a stone I wasn’t ready to put down yet. Not yet. Not while Harper was here, warm and carefree from the evening, Bella waiting for her at home, the good night still sitting intact around all three of us. There would be time for the rest of it. I just needed a few more minutes of this first.
Elizabeth pulled into the Stop & Go lot and cut the engine. The store sat quiet behind us, her Aunt Donna’s silhouette moving behind the lit window, unhurried and ordinary. My phone buzzed in my back pocket.
Unknown number. One message.
Unknown: Heard things have been stressful out at Riverside Pines lately. Hope you’re keeping your head down.
No emoji. No punctuation. No context. I stared at it for a moment while Harper gathered her bag from the footwell, still glowing from the evening, laughing at something Elizabeth had said. I felt a brief, fierce protectiveness toward that. Toward her not having to know yet. Toward letting her drive home with Bella waiting and the good night still intact.
“Okay,” I said, climbing out, keeping my voice exactly the way it had been all evening. “Text me when you’re home.”
“Always do.” Harper hugged me over the roof of the car, warm and quick. “Talk to him tonight,” she said quietly, into my hair. “Don’t talk yourself out of it.”
“I won’t.”
“Good.” She pulled back, smiled at Elizabeth, blew us both a kiss, and got into her car. I watched her taillights disappear out of the lot and held myself very still until they were gone.
Elizabeth had not moved. She was leaning against the hood of her hatchback with her arms folded, watching me with the careful attention of someone who had noticed exactly how efficiently I’d just wrapped up Harper’s evening.
“So,” she said.
“I need to text my brother real quick,” I said.
Her eyes didn’t leave my face. “Okay.”
I pulled up Matt’s contact.
Me: Silver sedan. Saw it in our lot before we left tonight. Saw it again outside the Twilight Tavern when we came out. Got a text from an unknown number. I have the plate. Oregon. It feels off. I’m at Stop & Go.
His reply came almost instantly.
Matt: Stay where you are. I’m coming.
Elizabeth waited, arms still folded, watching me with that quiet, steady attention until I looked up.
“Matt’s coming,” I said.
She nodded once, pushed off the hood, and said, “I’ll put the coffee on. Come inside to wait.” She went in without another word. After a moment, I followed, the night quiet around me, the good warmth of the evening sitting somewhere just out of reach, and waited by the door.
Matt’s truck pulled in within minutes, parking hard but controlled. He scanned the perimeter before he was fully out of the vehicle, then crossed toward me. “You get the plate?” he asked immediately.
I showed him my phone. He studied it, then nodded once. “Good.” He stepped back outside and went to his truck, phone already in hand. I watched him lean against the hood while he made a call, posture calm, voice too low to carry. When he came back, his expression had tightened just slightly.
“There’s been some interest in that stretch of river,” he said, lowering his voice. “Developers. Survey crews. We knew that. But it’s intensifying. There are reports of people, not quite being threatened, but their approach has bordered on intimidation lately. And the more attention they get…” He let out a slow breath.
Attention.
My podcast.
I folded my arms, more to steady myself than anything. “So what does that mean?”
“It means you don’t respond to that number.” He handed my phone back. “And you don’t go live. Not without me. And not without a solid plan.” He paused. “One more thing. Who has access to your laptop? Passwords, login credentials. Anyone besides you?”
“No,” I said immediately. The word came out automatically. The way it always did when Matt asked questions I hadn’t thought about yet. And then I did think about it. Travis used to use my laptop. To stream things, mostly. Games. Shows. He’d ask, and I’d tell him the password without thinking, because we were together, and that’s what you did. I never thought to change it when I left. There was so much to untangle, and the laptop password had not been on the list.
