I brace a shoulder against Jasper’s stall door, phone held out between us. Bran moves closer to hear, his arm brushing my sleeve.
“Quick version of what?” I ask.
“The girl from the Falls,” he says. “The preliminary ID came through. She’s a local. Eighteen. She worked at the diner on Route 9. Her name’s Mia Hart.”
I close my eyes briefly.
A person, not just a victim file. A girl with a job and a name and probably a TikTok account.
“Henry?” Bran asks.
“We don’t know for sure yet,” Brady says. “But the pattern fits enough to make me sweat, and with him being here taunting Tallulah…yeah. I’m going with Henry. Unofficially, of course, because I’m not an idiot. The cause of death looks close to Jason’s preferred method, but there’s some variation. State’s going to say we’re jumping at shadows, because that’s their job. I don’t give a flying fuck. I’m treating it like it’s him until I have proof otherwise.”
“Anything on SmartLittleBird?” I ask, hating the way my voice tightens around the handle.
“Nothing new,” he says. “State’s poking at the logs, but there aren’t any miracles. You know you’re better than anyone they have. For now, we sit on what we’ve got. No more messages from you until we decide our next move. That clear?”
“Crystal,” I say.
Bran doesn’t say anything, but I feel his agreement in the way his posture locks.
“I’m looping ECI in officially this afternoon as a courtesy due to Twiggy’s affiliation,” Brady continues. “Kelly, you’ll probably get a call.”
“I figured,” Bran says.
“Until then,” Brady says, his voice softening a fraction, “you two stay put. Twig, you let the big guy do the paranoid perimeter thing while you keep your brain on the records, not the chat. If he says no, you don’t argue. If you get anything on Nightjar you’re unsure about, you send it to me first.”
“What is it with you guys being bossy in the morning,” I say.
“Occupational hazard,” he says. “You okay?”
It’s a simple question, but coming from him, it hits like a weighted blanket.
I glance at Bran. He watches me, steady.
“I’m…working on it,” I say.
“Good enough for now,” Brady says. “I’ll be in touch.”
The call ends. Silence folds back in around us, heavy with the name Mia Hart. Bran’s hand is still close to mine, our arms brushing lightly. He doesn’t step away.
“You all right?” he asks. I don't jump his shit for asking this time.
“No,” I say. “But I will be. Eventually.”
His jaw flexes.
“You want to go back in?” he asks.
“In a minute,” I say.
We stay there in the barn aisle, Jasper occasionally snorting like he’s contributing to the conversation, the world outside still cold and gray.
Bran’s shoulder is a solid line at my side. I don’t lean into it.
But I don’t move away, either.
EIGHTEEN
