Page 59

Scarlet gathers photos of the route stone and brass tag, then points at my notebook. “I’ll get you the Love Stone scans. You do the comparison and let me know if you need access to anything else.”

“I do love homework.”

“We know.”

The three of them leave with a lot of hugs, several warnings, and one final wave from the gate.

The house feels quieter after they leave, more like ours.

Theo locks the door and returns to the living room. Ezra drops onto the couch beside me, more solid than he was an hour ago. I lean against him. Theo sits on my other side instead of standing guard near the window.

I let my head rest on Theo’s shoulder and tuck my feet beneath Ezra’s thigh. “Just so we’re all clear, if the basil dies, Junie will haunt us.”

“I had no doubts,” Ezra says.

Theo’s hand rests over my ankle. “We’ll make sure to take good care of it.”

The cemetery bell tolls outside. One heavy strike rolls across the yard.

I lift my head.

“I guess it wanted to remind us it won’t be outdone by Junie,” Ezra says.

A low engine growls beyond the hedge.

Theo is on his feet before the second breath leaves my lungs. His scent turns sharp enough to cut through rosemary, flowers, and the sweetness of my mother’s cookies.

Ezra’s hand finds mine.

A black motorcycle appears through a gap in the hedge beyond the front window, moving slowly along the cemetery drive. The rider wears dark denim and a worn leather vest. Instead of continuing toward the public gate, the bike angles toward the east boundary.

Theo’s voice drops. “Saints.”

The rider slows near the maintenance split.

For one second, when the motorcycle turns, a white emblem shows clearly across the back of the vest—a hollow halo above crossed bones.

Ezra’s hand fades inside mine.

Theo reaches the porch as the motorcycle surges forward, gravel spraying beneath the rear tire. It disappears beyond the trees along the east access road.

I make it to the doorway with Ezra beside me.

Theo stops where the maintenance road branches from the cemetery drive. Fresh tire tracks cut through the gravel. He crouches and touches the edge of one mark. When he returns, his face is hard.

“That road doesn’t lead anywhere a visitor would know about,” I say.

“No,” Theo answers. “It leads to the old east boundary.”

“The original gazebo site,” Ezra says.

The place where we found the marker stamped with my name.

I look back at the living room table where the route stone waits beside the brass tag.

Could someone have followed us this morning?

Theo’s answer comes before I ask. “They didn’t need to follow us.”