“I know,” Tanner said quietly.
The day unfolded differently after that.
Tasks were doubled. Sightlines rechecked. Adrian showed her how to use the radio — not as a courtesy, but as a necessity. Tanner walked her through the routines that mattered if something interrupted the ordinary flow of the place.
This wasn’t fear.
It was preparation.
By late afternoon, the heat had settled heavy again, the land deceptively calm. She stood on the porch with a mug of tea, eyes tracing the fence line, the gate in the distance now firmly closed and watched.
Cole joined her, leaning against the railing beside her.
“You could still leave,” he said. “If you wanted to.”
She glanced at him. “And take the problem somewhere else?” “And take yourself out of it,” he corrected.
She considered that. Then shook her head. “I came here because you don’t pretend choices don’t have consequences.”
A faint exhale from him — approval, maybe.
“Then understand this,” he said. “If this escalates, we respond as a unit. That means you listen when we tell you to move.”
“And you listen if I tell you something’s off,” she replied. He met her gaze. “Deal.”
The radio crackled suddenly.
Adrian’s voice came through, low and controlled. “Movement near the south fence. Not close. Not yet.”
Cole straightened. “Eyes only?”
“For now.”
She felt the shift in her body — not panic, but readiness. Awareness. Tanner appeared in the doorway. “Looks likedinner’s going to be late.”
She managed a small smile. “I can wait.”
As Cole headed towards the yard, he paused. “Stay here.” She nodded — and meant it.
From the porch, she watched the three of them spread out across the land, not dramatic, not hurried, but utterly aligned.
For the first time since she’d arrived, she understood something clearly.
This wasn’t about being kept safe.
It was about being kept with them — inside the perimeter of decisions, responsibility, and trust.
And whatever came next, she would face it knowing she had chosen this ground.
**CHAPTER ELEVEN.
It started with a sound that didn’t belong.
Not loud. Not urgent. Just wrong — a low crunch of gravel where there shouldn’t have been any movement at all.
She froze on the porch, mug half-raised, eyes fixed on the far end of the drive.
The radio at her hip crackled faintly.
