I glance toward the porch, half-expecting to see a shape by the railing.
Nothing. Only the shimmer of heat starting to rise off the gravel road.
“Enough,” I whisper. “You’re driving yourself insane.”
So I make a plan to stay busy, hoping the nerves will settle.
By noon,I convince myself to drive to town. I need paint samples for the tasting room anyway—and maybe to prove to myself that the world hasn’t tilted completely.
The moment I park near the hardware store, though, I feel eyes on me again. It’s subtle, like the air shifting around the back of my neck.
When I step inside, Calder’s leaning against the counter, talking to the clerk. He turns when he hears the bell. The easy grin on his face softens the sharp edge in my chest.
“Morning, sunshine,” he says.
I freeze. I’ve heard that nickname before. A whisper outside my window, but in a deeper, more ominous tone.
I shake it off and attempt a teasing grin. “Morning. You stalking me now?”
He laughs. “Hardly. This is the only store with decent nails in a fifty-mile radius.”
He studies me for a moment, his smile fading. “You look tired.”
“Long night.”
Something flickers behind his eyes—curiosity bleeding into concern. “You all right up there?”
“I’m fine,” I lie.
He nods, but his tone changes. “If my brother gives you trouble—any trouble—you tell me. He’s got this idea about control. Thinks he’s protecting the valley, but…” He trails off, his jaw tightening. “Just be careful, Raine. Tristan doesn’t do clean endings.”
The warning lingers after he leaves.
It’s the second time I’ve heard it from him—and it feels less like gossip and more like prophecy.
Outside, sunlight glares off the windshield of a black truck parked two rows over. For a second, it looks empty.
Then the outline of a man shifts behind the glare.
I freeze.
A flicker of white catches in the corner of the windshield—like light bouncing off smooth plastic.
When I blink, it’s gone.
But the feeling it leaves behind isn’t. It crawls up my spine and settles there, heavy and patient, like whatever I saw is still watching me.
CHAPTER 18
Raine
The roadback to the ridge feels longer than usual.
The sunlight fades faster up here, swallowed by trees that arch over the asphalt like a tunnel. Every turn looks the same, every patch of fog a little too thick.
I roll down the window, letting in air that smells like pine and damp soil. It helps for maybe a mile. Then the quiet starts again—the kind that presses against your ribs.
By the time I reach the estate, the sky has turned the color of tarnished silver. The vines ripple in the wind, whispering over one another like gossip.
