“You don’t have to be.” I nudged the plate closer. “Just take a bite.”
She hesitated. Then took one, slow and small. It wasn’t enough. But it was something.
Dad and Becket came in from the back porch, brushing snow off their jackets. Both looked grim. Both looked like they hadn’t slept. Becket held his phone in one hand, jaw tight enough to crack.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
Becket rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. “Patrol went up the ridge. Found disrupted snow, a few places where someone doubled back. Nothing conclusive.”
“Footprints?” I asked.
“One set. Same size as last night.”
Harmony tensed.
Dad poured coffee for himself, but he didn’t drink it. “Whoever he is, he’s patient. He’s watching patterns.”
I stepped behind Harmony and rested my hand at the back of her shoulder. She leaned into it without thinking. “He won’t get near her.”
Dad didn’t argue. He just gave a tight nod and looked toward the window, as if expecting the man to appear out of the tree line.
Becket cleared his throat. “We also got something else. A ping from the provincial unit.”
Harmony stiffened again.
Becket pulled a folded sheet from his pocket that was creased and clearly handled more than once. He slid it across the table.
I frowned. “What is that?”
“A transcript,” Becket said. “A traffic cam request filed two days ago.”
Dad added, “Someone asked for access to surveillance in Maple Valley. Street cameras. Businesses. The request came through a masked node but it originated in a Montreal IP block associated with private enforcement contractors.”
Harmony’s breath stalled. “Like… Ravenhill.”
Becket didn’t say yes. He didn’t need to. The silence confirmed enough.
“But why would he need camera access?” I asked.
Harmony’s voice was barely audible. “To see where I go.”
My hand tightened on her shoulder.
Dad’s voice dropped low. “He could already be watching you in town.”
Harmony’s face paled. I crouched beside her chair before the fear could spiral. “You’re not going anywhere alone. Not even across the street.”
She nodded, but she looked sick.
Becket leaned on the counter; expression carved from stone. “We need to talk about misdirection.”
Harmony blinked at him. “What do you mean?”
“Last night…” Becket crossed his arms, gaze sharp. “He circled you. Tracked you from the mansion, but kept enough distance not to be seen. That isn’t the behavior of someone rushing to grab a target.”
Dad added, “It’s someone testing vulnerabilities.”
I hated how true that sounded.
