“Right now, we take care of you,” I say firmly. “Then we deal with the bigger picture.”
But even as I say it, my mind is racing ahead to the implications. If the spring water is contaminated, it means every resident of Heat Mountain who drinks it is at risk. It means the spring, a sacred site central to the town’s identity, is actively poisoning children.
It means we’re facing a public health crisis that could devastate this community.
THIRTY-SIX
NOAH
A lead testingkit sits between us on the dashboard as I navigate the winding mountain road toward the springs in predawn light. The cheap plastic case from the hardware store looks woefully inadequate for the task at hand, but it’s the best we can do on short notice.
“Do you think this will actually work?” Holly asks, turning the box over in her hands. Her fingers trace the faded instructions on the back panel. “It says it’s for home use.”
“It’s better than nothing,” I reply, keeping my eyes on the road. The morning sun glints off patches of ice, making the drive treacherous. “We need evidence before we go to Mayor Winters. No one is going to believe the spring is contaminated without proof. We’re talking blasphemy here.”
Holly sighs, setting the kit back on the dashboard. “You think I might be wrong.”
I sigh. “I think we need to be sure before we say something that could destroy this town.”
The road narrows as we approach the springs, forcing me to slow down. In the passenger seat, Holly fidgets with the silver pendant around her neck—the one with our initials engraved onthe back. The sight of it against her skin still gives me a jolt of possessive pleasure even with the somber circumstances.
“What if I am wrong?” she asks suddenly. “What if it’s not the springs?”
I consider this as I navigate around a particularly deep pothole. “Then we go back to square one. Look for other potential sources of contamination.”
“But Kai drank the bottled spring water,” she insists, obviously trying to convince herself. “And the children did too, we’ve confirmed that with all the parents. It has to be the springs.”
“Science doesn’t care what “has to be,”” I remind her. “It only cares what is.”
She falls silent, and I feel her anxiety pulsing through our bond. Since Kai’s diagnosis yesterday, she’s been wound tight as a spring, oscillating between clinical detachment and barely contained panic. I don’t blame her. The thought that the town’s sacred water source might be poisoning people—might have been poisoning Grayson and I during our childhood—is enough to make anyone anxious.
We reach the small parking area near the springs. This early in the morning, it’s deserted, which suits our purposes perfectly. The last thing we need is curious onlookers questioning why the town’s doctors are testing the sacred waters.
“Ready?” I ask, killing the engine.
Holly nods, gathering the testing kit and her backpack. “As I’ll ever be.”
The air outside is crisp and sharp, carrying the mineral scent of the springs. Snow crunches beneath our boots as we make our way down the path to the main pool. The area is beautiful in winter—steam rising from the water’s surface, creating a mystical haze that dances in the morning light. Under different circumstances, I might appreciate the view.
We reach the main pool, where the water bubbles up from underground, filling a natural stone basin before flowing into smaller pools downstream. The steam rising from the surface carries that distinctive mineral smell I’ve associated with home since childhood.
Holly kneels at the edge, careful not to slip on the icy stones. “So, how do we do this?”
I crouch beside her, opening the testing kit. Inside are several plastic vials, a small bottle of reagent, and a color chart for reference. The instructions are simple enough: collect a water sample, add the reagent, and compare the resulting color to the chart to determine lead levels.
“We’ll test the main pool first,” I say, handing her one of the vials. “Then maybe check a few of the smaller pools downstream if that comes up clear.”
She nods, dipping the vial into the steaming water. The heat fogs the plastic immediately, but the sample is clear when she pulls it out.
“Now we add the reagent,” I say, uncapping the small bottle. “Three drops, according to the instructions.”
Holly holds the vial steady as I carefully add the drops. We wait, watching for any color change. According to the instructions, the water should turn anywhere from clear (no lead) to dark orange (dangerous levels of lead).
After a minute, the water remains perfectly transparent.
Holly frowns, holding the vial up to the light. “Nothing?”
“Let’s give it another minute,” I suggest, though I can already see the test is negative.
