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Upstairs, Ezra falls asleep faster than I expect. I stay awake long enough to hear Theo move below us. Front door. Back door. Floorboards near the kitchen.

Then the house goes quiet, and I lie there with Ezra’s hand in mine. As I drift off, I tell myself that the quiet means Theo is finally coming upstairs.

Chapter 24

Theo Heron

The east feed dies at 11:37.

One breath, the screen shows the route marker at the boundary and the black edge of the cypress line. The next, static eats the picture in gray shivers.

I'm out of the chair before I make a decision to stand.

The house has settled. Upstairs, Pepper and Ezra sleep in my bed, their scents layered through the hall and down the stairs. Rosemary. Vanilla. Linen. Sea salt. The faint honey sweetness of pastry sugar still clinging to Pepper's lips when she kissed me good night.

I should go upstairs.

The feed snaps back. The chain remains closed and the gate is in place. Rain-dark leaves tremble at the edge of the camera view, silvered by moonlight and distorted by the lens.

On top of the route marker sits a small metal coin. Saints insignia. Hollow halo over crossed bones, worn smooth at the raised edge where a thumb has rubbed it over and over.

The kitchen tilts around me.

Only one man would bring that coin to this house, place it there, and know I would understand.

My phone vibrates against the table. Unknown number.

You were always the one willing to do what was necessary to keep him alive.

I stare until the letters lose shape. The second message arrives before I’ve dealt with the first.

Old landing. Midnight. Come alone. I have what you need.

Upstairs, the house gives a tiny creak. Ezra shifting in sleep, or Pepper turning toward him. My chest pulls so tight, I have to press one hand against the table.

I should wake them. Pepper would sit up with her hair mussed and her eyes too clear for the hour. She would ask to see the message. Ezra would read it over her shoulder, then make an ill-timed joke. They would want to decide at the table, the way they made me promise.

But the coin isn’t a doctor’s visit. This is my past coming to fuck with my home and my people. My failure sits in the camera's eye as if it owns the place.

I pull up the feed history and go back. At 11:36, the east access is empty. At 11:37, static. At 11:38, the coin appears.

Hammer knew the camera angle.

My thumb opens Wes's contact. I send him a screenshot of the static and the coin but don’t offer any explanation.

I tell myself I’m not hiding. The lie comes dressed as caution, polished clean from use.

The back door opens without a sound. I oiled the hinges last week. Pride stings through the panic, absurd and useless. I’ve got good hinges, chains and gates I’ve locked and checked. It doesn’t matter. I’m a keeper who still missed someone encroaching on what’s mine to protect.

Outside, night wraps around the house in damp layers. The air smells of river mud, cut grass, cypress bark, and the faint mineral bite that rises after a hot day bakes old stone. The porch boards are cool through the soles of my boots.

I carefully close the door behind me.

For one moment, I stand with my hand on the knob and see Pepper in my lap, soft and stubborn, her purr moving through my sternum. She asked what I needed, and I gave her the answer I could barely get out.

I need our house to be safe. The memory fuels my alpha instincts and pushes me down the steps.

The east path runs along the cemetery fence before bending toward the old maintenance cut. Spanish moss hangs low over the stones. Moonlight catches names I have trimmed around for years, names I can read by shape even when lichen covers half the letters. I know where the ground dips after rain. I know which roots break the path. I know where the old flood line used to lick the rise behind the caretaker house.