“What?” I breathed.
Her chin lifted a fraction. “It’s my channel. My old encryption. I know the signature. I know where it forks.”
“No,” I said, too fast. “Absolutely not. You’re not diving back into the shit that got you threatened as a teenager.”
She turned to me, eyes steady and certain. “Eric… I’m not helpless. I know this world. And if someone is weaponizing something I built, I have to look.”
Dad’s voice dropped into warning territory. “Harmony, this is dangerous. You don’t poke a snake when it’s already striking.”
“I won’t poke it. I’ll just trace it,” she said like it was no big deal.
Becket watched her like he was reassessing everything he knew about her. “You still have access to the back end of those channels?”
Harmony hesitated. “Yes.”
“Then you’re not doing it alone,” Becket said. “If you trace anything, I’m monitoring you from here.”
“No,” I said again, sharper. “You’re not tracinganythinguntil we make sure you’re protected.”
Her eyes met mine and, for a second, she wasn’t scared. She looked like someone preparing for war, and maybe that’s because she had been raised in a war zone and came fully equipped for the task.
“I’m already being hunted,” she whispered, “sitting still won’t stop it.”
My chest pulled tight. “Sunshine…”
But before I could finish, her phone lit again on the table.
Another notification.
Another encrypted message.
Dad snatched it up fast and scanned the screen. His expression turned dark.
He set the phone down slowly so all of us could see.
One line:
Still choosing the wrong people to trust.
Some lessons never stick.
Harmony exhaled a broken sound that shredded me.
Dad didn’t hesitate. “Eric, take her upstairs. Now.”
I stood, pulling her gently to her feet. As I walked her out of the room, one truth sat heavy in my bones. Harmony thought she was about to step into her past. But the past wasn’t following her. It was already here.
CHAPTER 32
Eric
Three days passed in a strange pocket of almost normal. Not normal the way life used to be. But normal in the way people create when danger is circling and pretending everything’s fine and feels easier than acknowledging the truth. Harmony slipped back into her routines with a slow and quiet determination that made me both proud and ready to break something in anyone who even looked at her wrong. She’d insisted she wasn’t going to hide in my room or in the house all day, so Dad loaned her one of the old Maple Valley pickups. It was a beat-up navy Ford with reinforced locks, upgraded tires, and a tracker Becket installed before she even got behind the wheel.
“There,” Dad had said, handing her the keys like he was issuing a weapon instead of a vehicle. “You’re safe, and you’re mobile. But you check in every time you leave somewhere. No exceptions.”
Harmony had nodded with that mixture of gratitude and reluctance that lived under her skin now. She didn’t want to be managed. But she didn’t want to be reckless either. So every morning, she drove the truck to Petals and Pines and workedalongside Sandy, trimming bouquets and organizing supply orders while pretending she wasn’t looking over her shoulder at every jingling bell above the shop door.
Across the street, I kept watch from the bakery window, just enough to know she was okay. And each time I saw her smile at a customer, or bend to tie ribbon around a bouquet, something settled in my chest. A reminder she was here. Alive. Fighting. Choosing to live despite everything shadowing her. By late morning, dough rose in metal bins behind me, the scent of maple twists filling the bakery as I packed the counter with fresh trays. Becket sat at one of the bistro tables with his laptop open in front of him, typing fast, eyes sharp.
