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I pulled a pillow over my head.

"I have food! Down Home Diner's famous cinnamon rolls!"

My stomach growled. Even though I’d had a fried chicken dinner with mashed potatoes, I was starving.

"Kit, if you don’t answer, I'll use the connecting door again."

I dragged myself up, fumbling for the robe. "I'm coming."

Angelica stood on the front stoop with white paper bags and a coffee carrier. She'd transformed—jeans and a Jasper Creek High sweatshirt replaced her usual designer clothes. With her hair pulled back and no makeup, she looked younger and happier.

"It's ten-thirty." She pushed past me. "You slept eleven hours."

"Still feels early."

"Good thing you're in Tennessee." She unpacked the food onto the small kitchen table. "Cinnamon roll, bacon cheddar scone, country ham with redeye gravy, scrambled eggs, cheesy grits. And coffee. Real coffee."

The smell hit me hard. Butter, cinnamon, bacon, something rich I couldn't identify. My stomach demanded attention.

"Fine. You win." I grabbed the coffee. It could strip paint, nothing like my usual oat milk latte, but exactly what I needed. "This is amazing."

"Little Grandma's recipes. She's something like a hundred and three, still sits at the hostess stand every day."

"For real? When I met her yesterday, she had too much energy to be that old." I remembered the sharp-eyed woman who'd nodded when Angelica introduced me as Kathy, then asked about my work with genuine interest. Yeah, the Kathy, bit hadn’t fooled her at all.

"Maybe a hundred and four. She knows everybody. Co-founded the diner back in the day."

I bit into the ham and almost moaned. The meat was salty, rich, the gravy unlike anything I'd tasted. "What is this?"

"Red-eye gravy. Coffee and ham drippings."

"Coffee in gravy?"

"Don't question. Just enjoy."

We ate in silence. The food was nothing like LA's organic, locally sourced art on a plate. This was real food, made by people who understood that sometimes you needed butter and salt and things that stuck to your ribs.

"I want you to meet my brother today," Angelica said.

I paused mid-chew. "The Navy SEAL?"

"Jase. Injured his leg, had to retire. Now he works at a local company. Onyx Security."

The bite of food turned to ash in my mouth. "I don't think⁠—"

"Jase isn't just people. He's family." She leaned forward. "Kit, whoever made that video has resources. Technical skills. You need real help, not Hollywood fixers."

"He's military. What does he know about deepfakes?"

"The military deals with information warfare constantly. Plus, he has contacts." She grabbed my hand. "When he was fourteen, his parents took him to Brazil to visit orphanages. I was maybe two, trapped in this horrific place."

Her voice dropped. "The older kids were... hurting me. Actually, torturing me. Jase pulled me out of that cage and held me for hours, singing, until Mom could take me home."

"Cage?"

"They kept us in cages. Like animals." Her jaw tightened. "Jase, Renzo, and Malik told my parents they were adopting me. Three teenage boys deciding to save a broken toddler."

The food sat heavy in my stomach. "Angelica..."