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The remaining hours passed with the damaged set closed. We checked the new turn regularly, and I cut the next admission block rather than squeeze more guests into the shortened route. The radio calls came steadily from the staffed entrances. Each time somebody needed me, I told Damien where we were going before I started walking.

Near the end of the shift, we stopped at the cider stand. I took my cup to the edge of the awning while he paid for both, holding it close enough to smell apple and cloves instead of fog fluid. The vendor had turned the music down, and damp paper napkins skittered under an empty picnic table. I pulled off one glove to feel the heat through the cup.

Damien joined me under the awning. He’d loosened his jacket, and his flannel shifted with each breath as he drank. A drop of cider caught in his beard; he wiped it away with his thumb, and I looked down at my cup before I spent the entire break watching him.

“I was going to warn you about the heat,” I said. “I usually wait a few minutes before trying it.”

“I probably should’ve waited,” Damien said. “I wasn’t paying much attention to the cider.”

He was looking at me when he said it. I felt warmth spread beneath my fleece and held his gaze until my radio announced that the last group had entered. I answered, then stayed beside him to finish my drink, closer than the width of the awning required.

Once ticket sales ended, I waited for each section to confirm its guests were clear, then walked the accessible closing route with Damien. The two closed rooms remained behind their barriers. Elsewhere, work lights exposed scuffed paint and muddy footprints, and performers carried masks under their arms as they headed out through the monitored gate.

At production, I put both our radios on charge and marked the extended bypass on Saturday’s working plan. Damien waited by the door while I locked the binder inside the desk. I switched off the light and locked the workroom, leaving the faint glow of the chargers visible under the door.

Outside, he shortened his stride to mine as we crossed the gravel. My legs ached from the hours on my feet, and I could feel the cold through the toes of my boots. I let him open the SUV door, then settled into the passenger seat while he went around to drive. I leaned back against the headrest, watching the last farm lights disappear behind us.

***

The cottage porch came into view as Damien turned into my drive. Leaves had collected along the bottom step, and the porch light shone over the empty chair beside my door. I was reaching into my pocket for my keys when I saw what sat in the pool of light.

“Stop here,” I said. “The pumpkin on the porch is from Hollowfield.”

He braked before we reached the steps. The lantern wasn’t lit, but its crooked black grin was plainly visible, with the red shading around one eye and the green stem curling sideways. I’d put it back on its shelf before opening. It had still been there when we cleared the guests out of the room.

Damien looked from the porch to the windows. “Keep the doors locked. I’m going to check the front before you get out.”

He stayed within sight of the SUV, using a flashlight to check the porch and the space beside the house before approaching the steps. I watched him photograph the lantern without touching it. The curtain at my kitchen window hung exactly as I’d left it that morning. I couldn’t see anything beyond the glass.

When Damien returned to the SUV, he held out his hand for my keys. I lowered the passenger window far enough to pass them to him, then raised it and locked the doors again while he went back to the cottage. He unlocked the front door and disappeared inside. The porch stayed empty except for the lantern.

When he came back to the passenger door, he said, “The house is clear.”

I unlocked the SUV and climbed out. He kept me beside him as we approached the cottage. I stopped several feet from the lantern. Its cord lay curled against the porch boards, and a dried corn leaf clung to the base.

Inside, the front-room light was on. The two photographs still leaned against the wall, and my work papers covered the end of the dining table. I could smell the apple bread Laurie had brought that morning in the warm, dry air of the house. Damien took me through the kitchen before leading me down the short hall. He pointed out the bathroom window and rear door, then came with me through my bedroom and the spare room. The sample boxes on the spare bed were undisturbed, and none of the window latches had been forced. He tested them again.

Back in the kitchen, he put my keys in the bowl by the door. “I can’t find any sign of entry. Everything’s secured now.”

I unzipped my jacket, but my fingers caught in the edge of my fleece. I freed the fabric and tried again, hanging both layers over a chair before checking the kitchen window. The glass reflected the room behind me. I pulled the curtain closed.

“Someone knew where I lived.”

“We’ll make sure O’Shea has the photograph.” Damien set his phone on the table and faced me. “I’d like to stay here tonight. I can use the spare room.”

I looked down the hall. He’d just been in there, moving carefully around a stack of linen samples while he checked the window. I’d need to clear the bed and find him a towel. The thought of him leaving, of listening to every sound outside by myself, made me tighten my grip on the chair.

“Please stay,” I said. “I’ll move those boxes.”

He waited while I locked the front door behind him, then brought a small overnight bag from the SUV. I stayed at the window until he reached the porch again. Once he was back inside, I turned the lock and stood beside him while he took off his field jacket.

“I need to update Marin Wolfe, our chief operating officer,” he said, picking up his phone. “Then we can get settled.”

He set the call on speaker and placed the phone on the kitchen table. I stayed beside it, pulling my credential off my jacket while the line rang.

“I’m at Sybil’s cottage, Marin,” he said when she answered. “The lantern from the attraction was left on her porch. I’ve checked the house, and there’s no sign of entry. The doors and windows are secured, and I’m staying here for overnight protection.”

“I’ll update your location,” she replied. “Let me know if anything changes tonight.”