Page 177 of The Fire Line

“I should finish packing.”

Harris nodded, and Jay walked back toward the lodge before he could make the offer twice.

* * *

Harris watched him go with the answer still trapped behind his teeth.

He wanted Jay to stay. Two weeks, three, however long Jay was willing to give him. He wanted him working from the lodge, leaving cables where they didn’t belong, appearing in doorways with questions Harris pretended not to want answered. He wanted to hear him laughing through open windows and coughing somewhere close enough that Harris could look up and confirm he was all right.

The wanting itself wasn’t the problem. What frightened Harris was what staying would require.

For weeks, secrecy had been easy to call temporary because Jay’s departure was fixed. If he remained, Harris would be asking him to live inside it deliberately: nights behind closed doors, mornings spent pretending nothing had happened, Harris checking where Jay was whenever somebody else might notice.

People were already noticing. Evan had seen the way Harris watched Jay at the cabin ruins and quietly left them alone. Walt had been civil with Jay since Miles came up at dinner, but Harris had noticed the slight reserve that hadn’t been there before. They had nearly died together, which gave everyone a reasonable explanation for Harris’s new vigilance, but he did not know how long that explanation would hold.

More than that, he could not ask Jay to make himself smaller so Harris could remain hidden.

That did not mean he wanted him gone.

Jay was nearly at the lodge now. Harris could still call him back, tell him the answer had been wrong, ask for the time Jay had offered and figure out the rest later.

He had done versions of this before: let silence make the decision because saying what he wanted would mean living with the answer. Knowing the pattern did not make him brave enough to break it.

He didn’t.

Jay disappeared inside, and Harris remained beside the unfinished fence.

* * *

Packing took less time than Jay wanted it to. His room had accumulated clothes in drawers, two books on the windowsill, a charger behind the bed, and three rocks Willa and June had given him for reasons nobody had ever explained. His navy cap was still missing.

Priya appeared in the doorway while he was pushing one of the rocks into the side pocket of his bag.

“You could come back.”

“For pickups.”

“Sure.”

“There may not be pickups.”

“There are always pickups.”

“That is something lazy producers say to avoid emotional closure.”

She leaned against the doorframe. “Did you ask him?”

Jay stopped pretending to organize the bag. “I offered to stay a few weeks.”

“And?”

“He said Sunday was the right call.”

Priya’s expression softened. “I’m sorry.”

“It is the right call.”

She let him hear how unconvincing that sounded without saying so.