Owen pretended to inspect the gutter.
I stood beside Noah, unable to breathe properly.
Marlowe lowered himself beside the chair as though taking up a position he had been forced to abandon.
Noah kept one hand on him.
Caleb recovered first.
“Welcome back,” he said.
Noah looked up.
“You’re Caleb.”
“That’s what the government claims.”
“And Owen.”
Owen gave a small wave. “Good to see you.”
“I know your faces from the pictures.”
Caleb smiled without letting hurt reach it.
“That’s a start.”
Noah glanced toward the workshop.
The main bay stood open. Inside, tools gleamed beneath the lights. The smell of varnish, diesel, salt, and cut wood drifted into the yard.
His face changed.
“What?”
He shook his head.
“Smell.”
“Familiar?”
“I don’t know.”
Caleb stepped aside.
“No pressure to go in.”
Noah considered.
“Not today.”
“Whenever.”
Owen took the duffel from me.
“We installed the temporary stair lift,” he said. “The rental company checked it twice.”
Noah’s mouth tightened.
