Page 58 of Beyond Protection
My jaw ached from grinding my teeth the entire drive south.
Before I could reach for the door handle, barking erupted from inside. Sharp and uncertain—the sound of a dog deciding whether I was a threat or a visitor.
The front door opened. Michael filled the frame, grinning like we'd planned the visit instead of me textingNeed to talk. Coming to youat 11 PM.
"You made it." He stepped aside. "Fair warning—you'll have to pass inspection first."
The dog pushed past his legs. Mid-size, brown eyes fixed on me.
I crouched. Hands loose at my sides, weight on my heels, making myself smaller. My moves came from years of practice, approaching anyone who had reasons not to trust.
She approached in increments. Three steps, pause. Two more, head low. Her nose worked overtime—reading me through scent, building her assessment.
I extended my left hand palm down. Kept it still.
She sniffed once. Twice. Her tongue flicked out and caught my knuckles.
Michael laughed. "Fast approval. She takes weeks with most people."
"Good instincts," I said.
Alex appeared behind Michael's shoulder, wearing a cable-knit sweater and fogged glasses. "Luna's a rescue. She still checks everyone twice. Coffee's on."
Luna leaned against my leg. The pressure was slight but definite. Permission granted.
I stood. My knees cracked.
"You look like hell," Michael said.
"Feels accurate."
"Come inside before you freeze."
The entryway smelled like cedar, woodsmoke, coffee, and cinnamon. I pulled off my boots. Set them beside running shoes and leather loafers. The house revealed itself through intimate details—coats on pegs, mail sorted, and books stacked with bookmarks at different depths. People lived here.
Luna circled back, nudging my hand.
Alex poured coffee into a mug that said "Historians do it with primary sources." Set it in front of the chair facing both doors—the one I would've chosen.
"Cream's in the fridge," he said. "Sugar's on the table. Or you can drink it black and keep pretending you don't need anything."
Michael snorted.
I added nothing to the coffee. Drank it black because he was right—I didn't know how to need things anymore without feeling like a failure.
Luna settled under the kitchen table. Her chin rested on her paws, eyes tracking my movements.
I unrolled the largest photograph. It was Mac at the Reserve Roastery, Christmas lights reflected in copper behind him. The stalker had captured him mid-smile.
My phone buzzed.
Mac:Can't sleep. You make it okay?
The timestamp read 12:47 AM.
Eamon:I'm here. Strategizing. Go to sleep.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared.
