“Question mark’s doing a lot of heavy lifting,” Bran says.
“Tell that to the comment section,” I say. “Twenty bucks says half the town is tagging Shiloh already.”
The thought makes my stomach lurch.
She doesn’t deserve this. Not again. Notstill.
Bran’s gaze drifts to my computer. “Don’t,” he says.
I pause halfway through reaching for it. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t log in yet,” he says. “You know exactly what the forums are doing right now, and none of it is going to make you safer.”
“I’m not looking for safe,” I say. “I’m looking for information.”
“You’re not working this case,” he says, voice even. “Not directly. Brady, state, Feds—they can handle the heavy lifting. You sit this one out.”
I bark out a laugh. “You’re cute.”
“I’m not joking, Tallulah.”
He uses my full name like Kael does—like a stamp on an order form.
“You dragged me into monster territory,” I say. “Then you’re surprised I want to look at the monster? That’s not how my brain works.”
“Your brain doesn’t get a vote,” he says. “Not when Henry already knocked on your window. You’re not bait. You’re not backup. You’re the person we’re protecting.”
“I’m also the person he’s talking to,” I snap. “He came here for me. He showed up atmydoor. You think he did that so I’d curl up and knit while other people read the patterns?”
His jaw ticks. “I think he did it because he knows you can’t resist a puzzle and he wants you right where he can see you. I’m not helping him with that.”
“You’re not helping him,” I say. “You’re helping me. Or you can try to stop me and watch how fast I do it behind your back.”
His eyes narrow. “Is that a threat?”
“It’s a statement of fact,” I say. “You can hover and glower and babysit my meat suit all you want, but you don’t get to own my mind. That’s mine.”
Silence stretches, tight as piano wire.
Finally, Bran exhales through his nose. “You’re five feet nothing of pure nuisance,” he mutters.
“And yet here you are,” I say sweetly, flipping my laptop open. “Front-row seat.”
He scrubs a hand over his face, like he’s reconsidering all his life choices.
“Fine,” he says. “If you’re going to do this, you do it where I can see it. You don’t poke him just to see him jump. You don’t respond to anything without me reading it first. And if I say we’re done for the day, we’re done.”
“That’s…a lot of rules for something you allegedly can’t control,” I say.
“It’s the difference between helping and hindering,” he says. “You want me in your way or do you want me to have your back?”
Something in my chest stutters.
“My back,” I say, quieter than I mean to.
“Then read,” he says. “But understand something, Nightjar—if this starts pulling you into his crosshairs, I will burn every router you own before I let you keep going.”
“Rude,” I mutter. “Effective, but rude.”
