And she wasn’t sure what to do about it.
Caleb closed the door to the office behind him, crossed to the desk, and switched on the lamp.
All his paperwork lay exactly where he’d left it. Intake folders were stacked neatly to one side. The printer was idle. Nothing was disturbed or obviously out of place.
He didn’t usually look for anything abnormal. But considering all that had happened, he needed to pay attention to everything—at least until he had some answers.
Caleb sat at his desk chair, grabbed the top folder, and opened it.
It held Valentina’s intake forms. Naomi had gone through this process with Valentina, and he hadn’t had the chance to review her information yet.
He scanned the page on top.
It was handwritten in blue ink, the handwriting tidy and legible without flourishes.
That wasn’t his sister’s handwriting. Valentina had filled this out herself.
First and Last Name: Valentina Reyes.
Age: 32.
Former residence: Lynchburg.
Employment: none.
He flipped the page and scanned the information on Pippa.
When he finished, Caleb exhaled slowly and leaned back in his chair.
Then he flipped to the intake narrative.
This handwriting belonged to Naomi—these were her personal notes.
Feels unsafe returning home. Needs temporary housing. No active restraining order.
There was no mention of a partner. No names to flag. No recent police reports.
That was unusual. In general, they liked to know who might be a danger to their guests. They liked names and faces. That way, they could keep their eyes open for any signs of trouble.
But Valentina hadn’t listed anyone.
Sometimes, women did this out of fear. He and Naomi didn’t always push. After all, this was a shelter not a prison.
He reread the intake forms, but nothing jumped out or made him suspicious.
Caleb set the folder down and rubbed his thumb along the edge of the desk.
Millie’s face lingered in his mind, and their conversation about Valentina replayed itself.
She seems familiar.
Millie wasn’t the type to stir trouble. She’d spent too much time managing fallout to have any desire to create it. If she’d said something, that meant her instincts had nudged hard enough she couldn’t ignore them.
Caleb slid the folder back into the stack. Then he leaned back and stared at the wall, replaying the past couple of days in pieces—spotting the drone, the kennel sabotage, Valentina’s arrival, the way everything felt slightly misaligned.
You’re just tired. Wired. Looking for patterns that aren’t there.
But he couldn’t ignore the lingering bad feeling in his gut.
