“Yes.”
“But how—” She shook her head, like she could dislodge the information. “Who would?—”
“I don’t know yet.” His grip tightened as she swayed again. “Millie, I think you should sit down.”
She didn’t respond. Instead, her gaze drifted past him, toward the tape, the deputies, the woods beyond. He saw her mind working, trying to piece together what this meant.
What it meant for her. For the refuge. For everyone inside those walls.
“Come on.” He gently guided her toward the house. “Let’s get you inside before you pass out on me.”
She didn’t resist, but she didn’t seem fully present either. Her feet seemed to move mechanically, one in front of the other, Biscuit pressed close to her side.
As they reached the screened-in porch, she stopped and turned back to him.
“Caleb.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “What if this man died because of me?”
His chest tightened. “What? Why would you think?—?”
“Garrick—” She swallowed hard. “What if he found me? What if someone died because I came here?”
“No.” The word came out harder than he intended. “Don’t do that. Don’t take responsibility for something you didn’t do.”
“But—”
“Millie.” He waited until her eyes met his. “This isn’t your fault. Do you hear me?”
She stared at him, her expression crumpling slightly before she pulled it back together. She nodded, but he could tell she didn’t believe him.
He’d have to work on that.
But first, he needed to get her away from the chaos. Away from the questions she couldn’t answer and the guilt she had no reason to carry.
“Come on,” he said again, softer this time.
This time, Millie let him lead her inside.
Millie’s hands shook as she lowered herself onto one of the barstools at the kitchen island. Caleb remained beside her, almost as if he feared she still might fall.
Part of her was grateful for his presence.
Because she very well could slip off the seat.
She had to pull herself together.
She took in several deep breaths and tried to focus on the things she knew to be true.
She was here.
She was okay. Biscuit was okay. Caleb was okay.
Valentina and Sissy must still be in their rooms—but they were most likely okay.
Naomi appeared beside her, a mug of coffee in hand. She set it down gently in front of Millie, the steam curling upward in lazy spirals. “Here. Drink this. It’s awfully cold outside.”
Millie wrapped her fingers around the mug, letting the heat seep into her palms. She didn’t lift it. Didn’t trust herself not to spill it.
Biscuit sat beside her, and she reached down and threaded her fingers through his fur.
