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Pepper slides her arms around my waist. “Then we ask questions before we open doors. We don’t lock them because we’re afraid.”

I press my mouth to her hair. Pepper holds the helmet, and it feels like a promise I’m trying to become good enough to keep.

Across the street, Heritage Hall gleams with fresh paint and old lies. And at home, under my dock, a mark I should have seen years ago points toward water.

Chapter 23

Pepper Vines

Theo has gone too quiet. This is the careful kind of quiet that speaks to layers of unease. He measures every motion, holds himself back. Despite his composure, he can’t hide his dense alpha frequency pressing into the truck and creating its own atmosphere.

He parks, cuts the engine, and stares through the windshield at the cemetery house as though he’s assessing it for weaknesses.

The helmet sits in my lap, bright with Ezra’s stickers. I love it so much, and I hate that its thoughtfulness is overshadowed by our fears.

Theo reaches for the drink tray before I can lift it. “I’ve got it.”

“I have the pastry box,” I say.

“I’ve got that too.”

“Theo.”

His hand stops on the box.

I keep my voice gentle. “Let me carry the treats.”

His mouth almost lifts, but the smile doesn’t make it all the way through. “Fine.”

Ezra opens the back door before we reach it. He is solid from head to bare feet. His hair is messy, his shirt is half tucked, and he has a pencil tucked behind one ear.

My heart does that fluttering thing again.

He looks at the tray first. “Is that mine?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. I was fading from lack of espresso.”

Theo’s shoulders drop by a fraction at his joke.

I hand Ezra the coffee, and he takes a dramatic sip with his eyes closed. “Revival.”

“It looks like you were thriving on cheese.” I nod toward the kitchen table.

The surface is covered in printed photos, tracing paper, Ezra’s laptop, the camera, my scanned museum images, Theo’s old cemetery maps, and an empty snack plate. Ezra has layered transparent sheets across the photos and maps, each one marked in a different pencil pressure.

Theo sets down the drink tray. “You ate?”

Ezra lifts the coffee. “The rest of that cheese.”

Theo gives him a look.

Ezra points at the pastry box. “I’m about to improve my record.”

He reaches for a honey bun, then freezes when he sees the helmet tucked against my hip. His face changes in the softest way.

“You gave it to her?”