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“I can see that.”

“If you want to know where everyone is, I’ll show you.”

“I want to know where I can go without somebody reporting it to you,” I reply, turning to face him.

He slows for a tractor crossing the drive. “You can go where you choose on the estate. Tell a guard if you need to leave the main grounds so we know where to look if there’s trouble.”

“You can hear how that sounds, right?”

“Yes.” He waits for the tractor to clear, then looks at me. “I’m asking you to bear it for now. I know you didn’t choose this.”

I turn toward the window. Harvest workers move through the rows, lifting full bins onto a trailer. The vines are familiar after only a few visits, which bothers me almost as much as the guard beside the road. I don’t want Connor’s disappearance to make this place feel like home.

Birdie joins us outside the guesthouse, carrying a duffel in one hand and a small case of restoration tools in the other. Reid comes down the path from the main house and takes the tool case before she can object.

“Is that the complete workshop?” he asks.

“For one table, yes.” She looks at his hand around the case handle. “You could ask before taking it.”

“I could,” he agrees. “Would you have let me carry it?”

“Probably.”

“I’ll remember that next time.” He walks with her toward the lodge, where the damaged table waits. Birdie looks over her shoulder at me, and I raise a hand to let her know I’ll be fine. Reid says something I can’t hear. Whatever it is makes her laugh, and she bumps his arm with hers.

Sofia meets me at the guesthouse door with flour on one sleeve. The smell of baking bread reaches me before she takes Murphy’s carrier.

“He remembers me,” she says when Murphy puts a paw against the mesh door. “I’ve put his bowls in the kitchen, and there’s a place for him on the sofa.”

“He’ll take the whole sofa if you let him.” I follow her inside while Andrei carries my bag. “You don’t have to watch him every minute.”

“I’m making bread in the main house. He can supervise me when he grows bored with this one.” Sofia opens the carrier in the sitting room. Murphy walks out, studies her shoes, then rubs his cheek against her ankle.

Andrei sets my bag near the bedroom door. “Reid and I will review the files after I speak with the security team.”

His phone buzzes before he can say more. Drew’s name lights the screen, and Andrei answers. He listens without interrupting, his face changing as he looks toward the windows.

“I’ll come now,” he says. After ending the call, he turns to me. “The man arrested yesterday has asked to speak to his lawyer. Drew wants me in the meeting before the deputies question him again.”

“Go.” I touch the strap of the bag holding Connor’s drive. “I need a break from these files before I can read another page.”

“I’ll find you afterward.”

He reaches for my hand and brushes his thumb across my knuckles. It’s a small touch, but Sofia has turned toward the kitchen, giving us a moment to ourselves. I want to lean into him. I also want to tell him I’m still angry about how little choice I’ve had today. His phone rings again, and I let go of his hand.

Once he leaves, I try to sit with the laptop. I get as far as opening the first folder before the numbers blur together. Sofia offers me bread and tells me Murphy has already inspected both bedrooms. I thank her, close the laptop, and walk toward the stable. Walter’s warm muzzle against my hand yesterday reminded me of the horses Mom treated when I was little. She sometimes let me hold a lead rope while she worked, and I learned that standing beside a horse could calm me even when the animal was the one receiving care. I want a few minutes with Walter before I face Connor’s files again.

The path behind the main house is damp from the morning rain. Gravel presses through the soles of my sneakers, and the air smells of earth and cut grass. Near the stable yard, I hear a horse calling from a paddock. Mila stands outside Walter’s stall with a brush in her hand. She wears a blue work jacket and has gathered her dark hair into a ponytail.

“Do you have a peppermint this time?” she asks.

“I brought two.” I take them from my pocket. “One for him and one in case he’s learned to count.”

“He has.” Mila smiles and opens Walter’s stall door, stepping aside. “You can give him one. Save the other until he forgives you for making him wait.”

Walter lowers his head when I approach. His blaze is cleaner than it was yesterday, and he nudges my palm before I’ve brought out the peppermint. I offer it flat on my hand. He takes it, then searches my sleeve for the second.

“He has no loyalty,” Mila says. “Andrei comes here every morning, but Walter would leave him for a stranger with a full bag.”