Pierre left through the mudroom door. The click of it shutting echoed in the quiet kitchen.
Eric exhaled a long breath. “He means well.”
“I know.”
But Eric’s eyes were searching me. Gentle but unyielding. Hurt and hope mixed together in a way that made me feel exposed.
“Harmony,” he said softly, “if something feels off, I need you to tell me.”
My breath shuddered in my chest. I wanted to tell him everything. That I had a plan forming like frost cracks spreading across ice. That SableFox was pushing me into old patterns. That the fear I felt wasn’t the same fear anymore, it wasn’t that I wasprey, it was protective fear for him. For all of the Thornes. But I couldn’t bring myself to say any of that. Not yet at least.
“I will,” I said quietly.
Not a lie. Not the whole truth.
Instead, I murmured something about needing to grab warmer clothes and went upstairs. The moment the bedroom door closed behind me, the air felt colder. The window was fogged from the heater, and when I wiped a small circle clear, snow kept spiraling past the glass in slow, hypnotic swirls. The Thorne house felt warm. It was safe and loved, but danger followed me here anyway. It was all my fault. My responsibility and my burden to fix. I pressed my fingers along the dresser’s wooden edge until the sensation grounded me. My thoughts sharpened like a blade being honed. SableFox knew things no outsider should. No stranger. Not even a distant associate of Marcel’s.
Which meant one thing, there was information somewhere physical, digital, hidden that someone was accessing. Someone who knew where to look and that was Marcel’s office. His encrypted drives. His old routers. His paranoia caused him to keep copies in places no police raid ever found. Olivier knew some of the hiding spots. And once upon a time, so did I.
A memory hit me as the fourteen-year-old version of myself standing guard at the end of a hallway, pulse pounding, while Olivier shoved USB drives into the hollow behind a loose baseboard.
Olivier’s voice had been sharp that night, urgent. “Don’t tell Dad. Just keep watch for me.” I stood in the hallway, heart hammering, learning far too young how to guard secrets that weren’t mine.
I stumbled back from the dresser, heart pounding too hard. If someone found those stashes…If someone knew how to access the drives…If someone wanted leverage of any kind… Becketwould never find it. Not without knowing the exact spots Marcel trained us to use. But I did. That knowledge felt like a curse in my bloodstream. The floor creaked. I startled before Eric’s voice softened the moment.
“Hey,” he murmured from the doorway. “You disappeared.”
“Sorry,” I whispered. “Just needed a minute.”
He stepped closer, his gaze searching my face with slow, careful attention. The kind of attention that made me feel seen and wanted and terrified all at once.
“Your head’s spinning again,” he said gently.
I crossed my arms. “I’m okay.”
He brushed a strand of hair back behind my ear. It was such a simple touch but so tender, it nearly unraveled the shield I was trying to hold.
“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he whispered.
I looked up into his eyes, and for one split second, I almost said it. I’m going to break into Marcel’s house tonight. I’m doing it to protect you. I’m doing it because I love you. But if I told him, he’d follow me into danger. And I couldn’t let that happen. So instead, I reached for him. My hands sliding up the front of his shirt, gripping lightly at the fabric. His breath hitched. His body tensed, not with fear but with something deeper, more vulnerable.
“I’m trying,” I whispered, “to trust this. To trust you.”
His expression softened in a way that shook me. “You don’t have to try alone,” he murmured.
My eyes burned. “I know.”
He rested his forehead against mine, and the world fell quiet beneath that gentle pressure.
“We’ll figure this out,” he said. “Whatever’s coming.”
I nodded. Because he needed that reassurance. Because he wanted to believe it. But inside, I already knew some storms you didn’t drag the people you loved into. Some battles had to befought alone. He kissed me softly, slow and warm, like he was giving me something to hold on to. Something to come back to. And my resolve trembled for a moment but it wasn’t enough to stop me.
That evening, the Thorne house settled into its familiar nighttime rhythms. The sound of Asher grumbling about a teen at the community center. The low murmur of Pierre calling to check on the windows. The quiet clacking of Becket running encryption analysis he couldn’t break yet. It looked like a normal family night from the outside. But under all of it, inside my chest, everything coiled tighter. My thoughts kept circling back to Marcel’s house. To old secrets stirring. To SableFox’s voice calling me “little thistle,” like he could reach straight through the years and into the parts of me I didn’t show anyone. I curled up on the couch with a blanket over my legs, pretending to read. The words blurred on the page. Across the room, Eric watched me with tenderness so steady it made my throat tighten.
I forced a small smile. He smiled back, but his gaze was sharp, perceptive. The way he looked at me told me he wasn’t fooled. He could feel the shift in me. The storm gathering inside me. He reached for my hand. I let him take it. For the next few hours, I could give him honesty in the only way left to me, by loving him silently. By memorizing his warmth. By holding on to this quiet, knowing tomorrow might break it.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
