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Reluctantly, I let go of her hand long enough to step out into the damp chill, rounding the hood to pull open her door. The moment I took her hand again and helped her down, I refused to let go. She was my anchor, and from the fierce, white-knuckled pressure of her grip in mine, I knew she needed the connection just as badly. A relentless, ghostly drizzle blanketed the town; it felt as though it were always raining here. Thick, unnatural fog spilled through the tree line, slithering through the dark canopy of the surrounding forest as I led us toward the small cemetery.

I knew why Goldie had insisted on the trip. She’d never been to this part of town before, and she simply wanted to visit her parents. As we navigated the rows of headstones in the quiet Cherrytree Hills cemetery, the atmosphere felt heavy—both physically damp and thick with grief. Beams of sunlight broke through the gray clouds, streaming around us like spotlights. I leaned in, pulling Goldie’s hood over her head as we kept walking.

She wasn’t here with me right now. She was lost in her own mind and thoughts as she looked for her mom and dad.

“Were you here for the funeral?” I asked softly.

She shook her head. “They had me in protective custody because they weren’t sure who killed them or why. I think it took years for them to link my parents’ case to the rest.”

I squeezed her hand tightly when she came to an abrupt stop, her breath hitching. Before us were two small headstones. They weren’t the most intricate, but their script was clear:

Dakota Taylor | Parker Taylor

Underneath their names were their birth and death dates, along with an engraving of flowers. Goldie crouched on her haunches, her hand letting go of mine and resting softly on the headstone. Her fingertips brushed over the flowers and traced their names. “Those are our birth flowers—mine and Monroe’s.”

I didn’t speak or interrupt. She wasn’t speaking to me, just thinking aloud as she processed.

“I don’t remember them all that well, but I remember they were kind, and they loved me so much. I was their accident baby, but I never felt like it. A happy accident—the best accident. Never a mistake, they would always say,” she mumbled with a teary laugh. “My mom stayed home with me. I was still pretty little, and she had to work when Monroe was a kid, so she wanted to try the whole stay-at-home thing. She was a disaster at it, the house always a mess, and she was just as bad of a cook as I am. But she was happy. My dad was a sheriff’s deputy here,” she explained. “I saw his photo at the station when we were there. It was… surreal. I think that’s why they found the budget to hire Detective Ransom, because one of their own was killed and they couldn’t figure out who did it… or why. To think they still don’t know.

“He kept his hair long and always braided it down his back. When I went to live with my uncle, his brother, he did his hair the same way and it… well, it was stupid, but it made me feel closer to my dad,” she explained. “He would have liked you, I think. My uncle said he was a goofball and lived to rile my mom up. I guess I’m like her in that way—a bit more serious than necessary.”

“You keep us reined in,” I muttered. “People like me and your dad? We need it. You anchor us back to earth.”

She looked up at me and smiled, wiping her tears as she stood and leaned into my body. I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her back into my chest and resting my chin on her head. We stood there quietly, embracing the moment around us. I was proud of Goldie for coming here, for facing parts of her past she had hidden for so long.

The rain fell softly around us, and I was soaked through, but I didn’t care. I was happy to be here with her, to lend her whatever strength I could. A part of me also wanted to pack her into my car and drive her to safety, away from this town that kept breaking her soul.

“Hey, guys!” I heard someone call behind me, and turned to see Detective Ransom stepping out of his car.

“Did he know you were coming here?” I asked Goldie softly, not letting her out of my arms.

“I asked him if he knew where they were buried,” she explained, her gaze still locked on the headstones. “It’s pretty easy to put those pieces together.”

Detective Ransom jogged to our side, standing next to us and glancing down at the headstones. “The station puts fresh flowers out for them every week,” he explained softly, his gaze moving to Goldie in my arms. “They’re well-loved by everyone in this community. So are you. I hope you know that.”

She didn’t answer, just shrugged in my hold.

“How did you know we were here?” I asked quickly. I didn’t like him interrupting this moment for Goldie.

He sighed, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Small town. Someone saw your car and saw you two. Now that the town knows who you are, they want to meet you. The little girl who lived. It’s… it’s inconsiderate of them. I decided to come down to both warn you of that and keep anyone away who might try and force a meeting.”

“Anyone in particular?” I asked with a raised brow.

“Brooks is rather insistent on knowing where his brother is. I decided a buffer would be best,” Detective Ransom explained.

I nodded in understanding and gratitude. While I didn’t like the interruption, it seemed his intentions were pure. Goldie patted my arms wrapped around her. “Let’s go. I don’t want to have to deal with anyone.”

“You sure? Ransom and I can keep them at bay,” I offered.

She looked up at me with a sad smile. “I’m ready to leave.”

I smiled back and reluctantly let her out of my hold, but kept her hand in mine. I refused to let her go entirely, scared someone would snatch her away the moment I loosened my grip. The three of us walked quietly back to the cars, and I couldn’t help but notice the amount of headstones in clusters of three—the victims of the Watcher. I thanked whatever gods existed that my Goldie wasn’t one of them.

“Meet you at the station?” Detective Ransom asked as he broke away toward his car. I threw up a thumbs-up and walked to the passenger door, opening it for Goldie as she hopped in and closed it behind her.

I paused, feeling eyes on me. I turned, looking around us, and jumped at just how many people were watching us. A couple on a walk were doing their best to act like they weren’t staring when it was obvious they were. A shrewd woman with glasses was standing in the doorway of the library, her gaze fixed on us; an older man wearing overalls and a baseball hat slung low, lurking in the treeline, was watching Ransom as he started his engine; and finally, a young man with bleached hair and tattooed arms was walking up the street, his glare set on me.

I didn’t want to see what he wanted. I didn’t wait to see what any of them wanted, rounding the hood and jumping into the car quickly, locking the door behind me.