I studied him—military bearing, confident without being cocky, the kind of calm that came from seeing too much and surviving it, anyway. Probably mid thirties. Fit. Moved like someone who knew how to handle himself. "You a spook? I've never heard of the Agency working out of Charleston, but you don't exactly publish every safehouse on Craigslist."
He laughed, genuine amusement lighting his face. "Not a spook. Not exactly."
Then he held out a card, producing it from nowhere like a magic trick, the movement so smooth I almost missed it.
I took it, turning it over. Heavy card stock. Expensive. Embossed text:Dominion Hall.A Charleston address beneath it. Nothing else. No phone number. No website. No explanation.
"Name's Micah," he said. "There's a plane ticket waiting in your email. Hope to see you there tomorrow."
Then he turned and walked away, disappearing around the building like he'd never been there at all.
Part of me wanted to follow him. Grab him by the shoulder. Demand answers. Tell him to fuck off. Throw the card in the dirt and drive back to Fayetteville, back to the workshop where at least things made sense.
But I didn't.
I stood there in the heat, staring at the card in my hand, feeling its weight, thinking about three weeks of nothing.Thinking about my mother who didn't know my face but remembered every flower in West Texas. Thinking about the ranch I couldn't visit and the coyotes I'd kill tonight because it was the only thing I knew how to do anymore.
I looked at the card again.
Dominion Hall.
Charleston.
What harm could a trip to Charleston make?
I climbed into the truck and drove.
5
SOPHIE
By the time the sun began its slow descent toward the harbor, Charleston felt like it was exhaling.
The sharp edges of the afternoon had softened. The heat relaxed into something languid and forgiving, the kind that lingered on your skin instead of demanding escape. The sky shifted colors in deliberate layers—blue thinning into pale gold, then deepening into peach and rose, like the city was easing itself into evening rather than rushing there.
Our hotel room reflected the mood.
Beth stood in front of the mirror, hands on her hips, studying herself. She’d chosen a fitted dress that skimmed her curves, the color somewhere between champagne and blush, her blonde hair loose over her shoulders.
“Okay,” she said, turning slightly. “Be honest. Is this too much?”
Natasha, already dressed in a sleek black dress that made her look effortlessly powerful, glanced up from fastening a delicate chain around her neck. “For Charleston? No. For a sunset dinner cruise? Absolutely not.”
I smiled, slipping on my heels. “You look incredible.”
Beth’s shoulders dropped a fraction. “Good. Because if I’m stepping onto a boat, I’m doing it hot.”
I caught my own reflection in the mirror—soft waves pinned loosely to one side, makeup light but glowy, the coral wrap dress hugging my curves in a way that felt equal parts feminine and bold. The color made my skin look sun-kissed, and the neckline walked a careful line between classy and undeniably flirty, especially on a body that already leaned toward generous.
Natasha’s eyes flicked to me, amused. “You’re not nervous at all.”
“I don’t think so,” I said. And it was true. There was a steadiness in me tonight I hadn’t felt before—like the ground under my feet was solid, even if I didn’t know where it led.
The idea had come earlier, almost without us realizing it.
We’d been standing at Aquarium Wharf after leaving the aquarium, leaning against the railing and watching boats glide in and out of the harbor—sleek yachts, tour boats, ferries lit up like floating stages even in daylight. It had felt like the city was constantly arriving and departing, never quite still.
By the time we made it back to The Palmetto Rose, feet sore and skin warm from the sun, the thought had lodged itself firmly in my mind.
