Page 64 of Mountain Summons

Tristan glanced sideways. The words landed with more weight than he expected. “That’s surprisingly deep,” he said.

Lorenz flipped him the bird without breaking stride. “Don’t get used to it. Come on. I have things to do this afternoon.”

25

Lena

Something was wrong.

Tristan hadn’t said a single word since they got into the car, and that wasn’t like him. But she didn’t know him well enough—not yet—to know whether to push.

Every minute that passed tightened the knot in her chest.

In the end, she spoke up becausesheneeded to. Because if something had happened on his first day back at work … it mattered.

“Did something happen today?” she asked quietly. “Is your side hurting?”

A beat of silence. Then another. She began to wonder if he’d even heard her. Finally, he shook his head.

“No. I’m good.” He paused. “We’re no closer to learning why your father’s house was broken into.”

“He told me nothing was missing,” Lena said. “At least from his things. I haven’t been back to check on mine.”

“Good. Your father wants you to stay away for the time being, and I agree with him.”

Lena blinked, not liking where this was going. “Glad you both agree on something. Is that why you’re suddenly acting like my bodyguard?”

Tristan’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I don’t think you’re in any danger, Lena, but it’s better to be safe.”

“And my father? Where’s his bodyguard?”

“Your father can take care of himself, Lena.” He let out a breath. “Before you say anything, I know how that sounds. I don’t mean you can’t take care of yourself. I just mean … it doesn’t hurt to be careful.”

“There it is,” Lena said, pointing at a black and gold sign ahead. She’d walked past this gallery countless times, but had never dared to imagine her work might be there one day.

It’s just a meeting. Don’t start counting your chickens.

She grabbed her laptop bag. She hadn’t been allowed back home to grab her physical prints, but thankfully she was manic about organizing her work, so it was all accessible on her laptop, in case the gallery owner wanted to look at anything specific.

Tristan parked the car and turned to her. “Good luck, Lena. I know you’re going to wow them.”

“Should I call you when I’m done?” she asked uncertainly.

“No need. I’ll wait for you here.” He paused and pulled something from the side of the door. “I brought a book.”

Lena nodded. He would. It was strange, trusting someone this much. And it suddenly struck her, that Tristan wasn’t here because he and her father had decided she needed a bodyguard. She heard, in his silence, all the things he wasn’t saying. And it wasn’t just him—there were things she hadn’t said, either. But she would. They would talk about this tonight. She wasn’t going to wait any longer. “I’ll be back soon,” she said, stepping out ofthe car and straightening the black blazer she’d pulled on over blue jeans.

The door to the gallery was ajar. Lena hesitated, then pushed it open wider, stepping into the dim space.

Why are the lights off?

“Hello? Madame Guillaume?”

She’d spent the morning researching the gallery owner—an elegant older woman who owned three galleries, in the three places she loved most in the world: Paris, Chamonix, and Tokyo. Lena had allowed herself a brief, reckless thought—What if my work ended up in Tokyo?But she’d quickly closed that thought down.Step by step.

Her black ankle boots echoed against the hardwood floor.

No soft classical music. No faint hum of climate control. No voices.

---