She glances over her shoulder at me and her expression softens a fraction—then her eyes sharpen like she remembered something.
“Jack,” she says.
“Yeah.”
“Do you think we’ll ever discover who’s behind everything?”
“Yes. It’s all about patterns. And I recognize patterns.”
Her voice goes smaller. “I hate that my life has patterns now.”
I step closer, low enough that she has to look up at me. “This isn’t your fault.”
She lets out a little laugh that has no humor in it. “Tell my nervous system that.”
I want to touch her. Pull her into me. Keep her there. Instead, I do the next best thing. “I’m calling Grayson,” I say.
Stella’s eyes flick up. “Your boss?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” She swallows. “Do it.”
I pull my phone out and step toward the living room, keeping Stella in sight. The second I hit call, Grayson answers like he’s been expecting me.
“Status,” he says.
“Safe house. Secure,” I reply. “School day went smoothly. No incidents.”
“Good. What do you have?”
I glance back at Stella. She’s pretending to rummage through the silverware drawer, but her shoulders are tense.
“Nothing new,” I say. “We need somebody to make a move.”
A pause. Grayson’s voice goes colder. “Agreed. We’re keeping up on our end, checking everyone at the school for red flags.”
“Anything come up?”
Grayson exhales. “Not yet, but I’ll keep you in the loop.”
“Appreciate it.”
Grayson pauses. “Sinclair.”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t let emotions compromise protocol.”
My jaw tightens.
“Protocol keeps her breathing,” Grayson continues. “Your feelings don’t.”
I stare out the cabin window at the darkening woods. “Understood.”
“Text me if anything changes,” he says, then hangs up.
I stand there for a moment, phone still in my hand, feeling the weight of that warning like a hand on my throat.
