A hesitation, small but sharp, cracked across his features. The detective in him wanted control. The brother in him wanted to shield us. For a second, neither won.
“A new batch of filings came through for Marcel’s appeal,” he said. “They were sealed. Now they’re not.”
Harmony’s breath hitched. A full second passed before she inhaled again. It was the kind of stillness that came from old obedience, old fear.
“Meaning…?” she whispered.
“Someone is pushing the process,” he replied grimly. “It’s moving faster than it should be.”
The snow suddenly felt colder.
I swallowed. “What does that mean for Harmony?”
Becket’s jaw clenched. “Pieces are moving. I just don’t know yet if they belong to the same puzzle.”
Harmony’s voice softened, but steadied. “Becket… that’s really ambiguous. I need you to lay it out for me.”
Another hesitation flickered through him, longer this time, heavier. He wasn’t just the detective now. He was the brother who didn’t know how to tell us the storm was already forming.
Finally, he exhaled. “There are names being circulated again. People connected to Marcel’s operations. Some expected. But one name shouldn’t be there.”
Harmony’s pulse kicked beneath my fingers.
“Whose?” she whispered.
Becket shook his head once, firm. “Not until I verify it. If I’m wrong, I put suspicion on someone who doesn’t deserve it. And if I’m right… you’re not ready to hear it.”
Harmony folded slightly inward, bracing for a blow she didn’t know yet.
“And there’s movement on the tech side,” he added.
My stomach dropped. “SableFox?”
“No direct messages since the loft,” Becket said. “But someone’s testing the relay again. It’s subtle but persistent. They’re probing for weak points.”
Harmony swallowed. “So they know I haven’t logged back in.”
“Exactly. They’re waiting.”
Waiting. The word crawled under my skin.
Becket shoved his phone in his pocket. “Dad’s making a sweep near the old festival grounds.”
Harmony blinked. “The festival ended days ago.”
“That’s the problem,” Becket said. “It’s empty now. Less foot traffic. Easier for someone to move around without being noticed. Someone tall with their hood up and a dark coat was spotted near the vendor storage area last night.”
A cold ripple moved through Harmony. “You think it was Tremblay?”
“We don’t know,” Becket replied. “But whoever it was knew exactly which cameras were dead. Which means they’d been there before.”
Harmony wrapped her arms around herself. I stepped behind her, rubbing slow circles along her arms. She leaned back into me like she was trying to anchor herself.
“Where’s Dad now?” I asked.
“Running the south trail and the old festival path,” Becket said. “He’ll loop the ridge after. Snow makes footprints easier to track… and people easier to lose.”
My gaze drifted toward the tree line beyond the orchard. The shadows felt too still. Too deliberate.
