“The second time?”
“It’s a long story. But I know they want to meet you.”
“Why would they want to meet me? They don’t even know me.”
“They know you matter to me.” The words came outbefore he could filter them. He let them stand. “That’s enough for them.”
Morgan was quiet for a long moment. Her fingers had stilled on her thigh, the iambic rhythm finally interrupted.
“What if someone recognizes me? My face isn’t public yet, but?—”
“Oak Creek is small. The Eagle’s Nest is smaller. And believe it or not, there are bigger secrets than you being kept in this town. Theo Lindstrom is technically not even alive when it comes to the government.” He paused. “These are people I trust with my life. I trusted them with yours when I called them to help get you out of that warehouse.”
She looked at him. Really looked, searching his face for something he couldn’t name. “What about the work?”
“You need a break,” he said quietly. “We both do. The data will still be here tomorrow.”
The silence stretched. Lincoln waited, resisting the urge to add more arguments, more logic, more persuasion. He’d made his case. The rest was up to her. He couldn’t force her.
“Okay,” Morgan said finally. Her voice was small, uncertain. “Okay. I’ll come.”
Chapter 17
Five months ago:
Binary: What does belonging look like to you?
Mercury: I saw a family at the park once. Four generations, all talking over each other.
Binary: That sounds chaotic.
Mercury: It looked like belonging.
Binary: Belonging is just repeated proximity plus tolerance.
Mercury: Or it’s people choosing each other. Over and over.
Binary: …I suppose that’s also accurate.
The Eagle’s Nest looked exactly like a place that had been loved for forty years.
Morgan studied it through the windshield of Lincoln’s SUV, her hands pressed flat against her thighs to keep them from shaking. Light spilled from windows, turning the gravel lot gold. A neon eagle glowed above the door, and through the glass, she could see shapes moving. Peoplelaughing, drinking, existing in a world she hadn’t been part of for what felt like years.
Two weeks. It had only been two weeks since the warehouse. But time had stretched and compressed in ways that made her old life feel like something she’d read about in a book.
“We don’t have to go in.” Lincoln’s voice was quiet beside her. “If you’re not ready.”
“I’m okay.” The words came out steadier than she felt.
He didn’t argue. Didn’t push. Just cut the engine and came around to her side, opening her door with a particular kind of deliberate care.
His hand found the small of her back as they crossed the parking lot. The pressure was light—barely there—but it tethered her to the present moment in a way she desperately needed. She leaned into it without meaning to, and his fingers spread wider against her spine.
The door swung open, and noise washed over her.
Jukebox playing something with a country twang. The crack of pool balls from somewhere to the left. Voices layered over voices, laughter cutting through the din. The comfortable chaos of a Saturday night in a small town where everyone knew everyone and strangers were a curiosity.
Morgan braced herself. She’d spent her whole life being a curiosity.
