Luke followed her down the short hallway, past the bulletin board plastered with flyers—Fall Festival Volunteer Signup, Chili Cook-Off, Pie Judging, Pumpkin Carving Contest.
Normal.
The community room door was open. Voices spilled out. Laughter.
When he stepped inside, the room quieted just slightly.
Chief Harper stood near the long folding table, coffee in hand. A handful of council members, all of them familiar faces from town.
“Ah,” the chief said. “There he is.”
Luke straightened. “Sir?”
“Relax,” Harper said with a grin. “You’re not in trouble.”
A ripple of chuckles followed.
Eleanor Matthews stepped forward, clasping her hands together. “We’re finalizing plans for the fall festival,” she said. “And we wanted to ask you something.”
Luke nodded slowly. “Okay.”
“We’d like you to be this year’s Festival Marshal.”
He blinked. “The… what?”
“It’s an honorary position,” she said. “You wear a sash. Say a few words. Be visible.”
Visible. He’d spent months making sure Grace wasn’t.
She smiled wider. “You’ve been a real credit to the department this year, Luke. Professional. Reliable. Folks trust you.”
Someone behind her added, “You’re good for the town.”
Grace gave this town her time, her energy, her patience. She poured herself into it without asking for applause.
And here they were, applauding him.
The chief clapped him on the shoulder.
Luke felt the old version of himself respond automatically—shoulders straightening, pride clicking into place.
And underneath it, something colder.
Thiswas what he’d been protecting.
This was why he’d kept things clean. Quiet. Contained.
No complications. No whispers.
Just this.
“Of course,” he said woodenly. “I’d be honored.”
Eleanor beamed. “Wonderful. Your parents will be thrilled.”
His parents.
Of course they would be.
