Page 156 of Sunrise & Serenity

I force myself to focus on the photo in front of me, adjusting the reclaimed timber frame one last time before climbing down. Dusting my palms against my jeans, I step back so I can take it all in.

The installation stretches the full width of the wooden wall near the entrance, from the reception desk to the seating area overlooking the mountains.

A lump swells in my throat. God, I wish Holden were here to see it. I let out a shaky breath and push the thought aside. This isn’t about Holden; it’s about this place. It’s about Wild Ember.

The wall is far from perfect. Many of the older photographs are grainy or overexposed, with fine scratches and faded edges from years spent tucked away in boxes. I love them because they show their age. In some of the newer photos, horses and riders blur faintly at the edges as if they never fully stopped moving.

But technical perfection feels less important than the story the photographs tell. Floods. Droughts. Brutal winters. Expansion. Loss. Generations rebuilding fences, raising cattle, training horses, pouring themselves back into this land over and over again.

The wall holds it all. Sepia-toned shots of the original ranch house. Riders cutting through snowdrifts nearly as tall as the fence rails. Dust rising behind cattle in summer pastures. Horses half hidden in mist. Half-built cabins against mountain backdrops.

A few months ago, I would’ve obsessed over whether the images complemented each other perfectly. Whether the tones and composition flowed cleanly from frame to frame. Now all I notice is how it feels. The way everything is connected—alive. Wild Ember’s still becoming itself, even after all these years.

Emotion blooms quietly in my chest as I study the wall—this messy, beautiful thing I helped create. None of these photos, not even the few of mine I included, would ever hang in a New York gallery.

And I don’t care in the slightest.

The double doors open behind me.

“Wow.” The honest admiration in Taryn’s voice loosens the tightness beneath my ribs.

I glance over my shoulder. “You really like it?”

She comes to stand beside me, eyes wide. “Sage, it’s incredible. I can’t wait for Dad to see it.”

More voices drift in from outside, and then Chance and Sterling walk through the doors. Both stop short.

Neither says anything as they examine the installation. Weirdly, the silence means more than instant compliments would have.

Chance wanders along the wall, his hands shoved into his pockets. My attention catches on the empty space beside him. Holden should be here, leaning against the reception desk, pretending not to care while secretly studying every photograph.

“You know,” Chance says casually, “people are going to end up standing here staring at this thing instead of checking into their cabins.”

“That’s kind of the point,” Taryn says dryly.

Sterling still hasn’t spoken. His gaze moves slowly across the photographs before finally landing on me. “Doesn’t feel like marketing anymore.”

There’s a roughness in his voice I’m not used to, and emotion rises unexpectedly into my throat. He’s right. This wall doesn’t feel like marketing. It feels like Wild Ember.

And somehow it feels like me now, too.

My breath catches almost painfully. I wish more than anything that Holden were here to see this. To see what he’s part of. Maybe then he wouldn’t keep walking away from it.

I can picture him standing a little apart, hat low, watching his family with a half smile curving his lips.

My heart twists painfully. Can you fall in love with a smile? Because I think that might have been what I fell in love with first. The first crack in his armor. Maybe it would have been better if the falling had stopped there. But it didn’t. He took over my heart without even trying, and now his absence hurts more than finding out the truth about Graham ever did.

I’ve been holding myself together as well as I can, but now the ache has grown so intense that it’s hard to breathe, and the backs of my eyes sting. I need to leave before I crack open completely.

“I’m glad you like it,” I tell them with as bright a smile as I can manage, taking a step toward the door. “I have to meet Mia now. So, I’ll, um… see you later.”

I don’t miss the look Chance and Sterling exchange, or the way sadness clouds Taryn’s features. But they don’t call me out.

Keeping my smile intact for as long as I can, I slip out the door.

Before I can even pick up my burger, Mia steals one of my fries. “I can’t believe you’re leaving in what, a week?”

“Six days.”