My jaw tightens. “The air shifted.”
Clay swears under his breath.
“Storm surge?” someone offers.
“No,” I say. “Localized. Responsive.”
The words hang.
Mags studies me for too long. “Responsive to what?”
I hold her gaze. “Unknown.”
She doesn’t blink, face unreadable. “Unknown,” she repeats softly. “Or simply inconvenient?”
No one else catches it. But I do.
My pulse spikes, eyes dropping to study my folded hands. Silence presses in. The distant murmur of a tractor, the only respite.
They’re waiting for me to weigh in. I search for the right words. Ones that don’t lie… ones that don’t say too much.
“She’s rational,” I say instead. “Dismissive. Believes everything has an explanation. One of those big-city science types. Give her a few more days, and she’ll be bored to death with those rocks… and Raven’s Ridge.”
At least, that’s the hope, though I know better. But I say anyway. Because I don’t know what else to tell them.
“That makes her more dangerous,” Clay says.
“Or easier to predict,” Mags replies.
That earns her a look. She ignores it.
“Not if she refuses to believe. Stays obstinate,” I add, working hard to keep the simmer out of my voice.
“What’s her next move?” she asks me.
“Museum meeting.”
“Then we get there first,” Clay says immediately.
“No,” Mags cuts in. “We do nothing that leaves fingerprints.”
Silence settles around the Grange.
“We observe,” she says. “We do not provoke.”
“And if the range reacts again?” I ask before I can stop myself. It’s the one question gnawing at me.
Her eyes flick back to me. “You report it. Immediately.”
I hold her gaze, jaw tightening. Looks like the babysitting just got official. The last thing I need.
“Anything you’d like to add, Ash?”
I shake my head. Her eyes slide down the table.
“Meeting adjourned,” she finishes.
But as chairs scrape and men stand, Mags lingers.
