The air thickenedthe closer they came to Carver’s land. It wasn’t the weather. The day was clear enough, the sky was low and gray but dry. No, it was something else. The stillness of the trees. The hush of animals gone to ground. A kind of breathless silence.
Even the horses seemed to sense it. There was a shift in Alex’s mount’s gait, a wariness in its steps, as though the very earth had turned cautious. Somewhere in the brush, a bird called once and then fell silent.
He adjusted the reins with one hand, the leather familiar and grounding beneath his fingers. Every muscle in his body was alert, not from fear, but from readiness. The kind honed over years of campaign, when the land itself whispered of danger, and silence pressed too tightly around the edges of thought.
Alex had felt it before. Before battle. Before loss. He didn’t like it.
He glanced sideways at Georgina, though he already knew what he’d see. Her posture was straight, her chin set. Not stiff, not defiant, just determined. She wasn’t here with his permission, but by her own decision.
He tried to remember the last time someone had made a decision like that. A decision that was rooted not in duty or fear, but in conviction. She had no obligation to be here. No promise to keep. And yet she’d stepped forward anyway, into danger, into uncertainty, into something even he couldn’t name.
He’d always admired her intelligence. Her ability to listen withoutinterrupting, to notice without seeking attention. But this, this calm, steady resolve, was something different. Something rare.
She didn’t belong in a world of forged ledgers and shadowy threats. And yet she did. She saw what others missed. She heard what men ignored. She brought clarity to things he’d trained himself not to feel.
He knew what he felt for her. He didn’t question it. Admiration had long since turned to something deeper, quieter, and far more dangerous. What troubled him now was how much he needed her to stay safe, and how little control he had over that here.
The path to the house was muddy from yesterday’s rain. The ruts were deep and careless. No one had come through with a wagon. No one had cared to smooth the way.
When they reached the front gate, Alex dismounted first, scanning the yard with a soldier’s instinct. The stables stood quiet. A shutter on the second floor hung crooked on its hinge, tapping gently in the breeze.
Carver opened the door before they could knock.
He looked worse than before, drawn, sweat-damp, and hollow-eyed. His shirt was buttoned wrong, and there was a smear of coal dust across his collarbone, as if he’d scrubbed himself clean but hadn’t bothered to check the mirror.
Alex didn’t speak. Neither did Carver.
“Where is your family?” Georgina asked, breaking the silence.
Carver blinked, the question landing like a stone in a pond. “They’re not here,” he said after a heartbeat. “Went north.”
“Why?” she asked gently. Not accusing, not prodding, just asking.
Carver’s mouth pulled tight. “Safer that way.”
Alex stepped forward. “Safer from what?”
Carver’s gaze dropped to the porch boards. He didn’t answer.
Wordlessly, Carver stepped back and let them in.
The interior was dim. One lamp burned low on the table. A child’sboot sat beneath the table, half tucked under a chair. Forgotten. Or maybe left on purpose. A reminder.
The air held the musty scent of old coal and ash. It wasn’t filth, not exactly, just abandoned. It was as if the soul of the place had left with the people who had once made it a home.
They didn’t sit.
“We know someone’s using the mine records,” Barrington said, stepping beside Alex. “Forging documents. Covering tracks.”
Carver said nothing.
“The subversion goes beyond accidents,” Alex added. “And we think you know who’s behind it.”
Carver’s jaw flexed. “I don’t.”
Georgina moved past both men, quiet as breath, and rested her gloved hand on the back of a worn chair but made no move to sit. “Tom,” she said gently.
He flinched at the sound of his first name.
