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She hesitates.

“Don’t protect him,” I say.

Her eyes narrow. “I’m not.”

“You hesitated.”

“Because I don’t know you.”

“No,” I say. “You don’t.”

I tear a blank sheet from the back of my notebook and slide it across the table with my pen.

“My number,” I say. “Call me after you confirm whether there’s an actual report.”

“I didn’t ask for help.”

“No.”

Her chin lifts. “And yet.”

“And yet Ben was my friend.”

She cocks her head to one side. “I’m not Ben.”

“I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do.” There’s heat in her words now. “People keep looking at me like I’m some piece of him that walked back into town. I’m not. I’m the sister who left. The one who didn’t call home enough. The one who doesn’t know how to talk to her niece without making things worse. So whatever obligation to help you feel because of my brother⁠—”

I cut in. “It’s not obligation.”

She stops, staring at me.

I don’t know what it is, not exactly. Debt, maybe. Loyalty. Grief looking for somewhere useful to put its hands.

“It’s not just obligation,” I correct, because precision matters. “It’s what people do here.”

Her mouth twists. “People here also watch through windows and bring casseroles before you’ve even asked for help.”

“Yes.”

“That isn’t always comforting.”

“No,” I say. “But it’s often effective.”

She seems to digest this. “Tom lives in Everwood,” she says after a moment. “Maggie too. I went there yesterday after I dropped Lucy at school. He said he had a meeting with police scheduled. I asked to go with him, but he refused. Said I should focus on keeping Lucy stable.”

“What did Maggie take with her?”

“Phone. I think her purse. I don’t know about her wallet. Tom says her phone is off.”

“Car?”

“No. It was at the house.”

“History of leaving?”

“A little. I mean, he says yes.” Her fingers curl around the coffee mug. “A night or two. But not like this. Not without Lucy.”