She turned her head to look at him, really look at him, and he felt the weight of her gaze like a physical thing."You're serious, aren't you?About staying."
"I don't say things I don't mean."
"Most people do."
"I'm not most people."
Something shifted in her expression.The wariness didn't disappear entirely—it would take more than one night to undo years of learned caution—but it softened, just slightly, around the edges.
"Colby?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."The words were simple, but her voice carried something deeper—gratitude, yes, but also the fragile beginnings of trust."For everything."
He reached over and gently covered her hand with his.Her fingers were cold, trembling slightly, but they curled around his, holding on.
"Get some rest," he said quietly."I'll be here when you wake up."
She watched him for a long moment, as if testing the promise against everything she'd learned about the way promises could break.Then, slowly, she nodded.
She closed her eyes.
Colby settled back in the uncomfortable hospital chair and watched the dawn break through the window.The copper moon had faded with the night, but its light lingered somewhere in the back of his mind—a reminder of the town he'd sworn to protect, and the woman who had somehow, in the space of a few terrible hours, become someone he couldn't walk away from.
He didn't know what tomorrow would bring.Didn't know if Gavin was truly responsible, or if the fire would turn out to be something else entirely.Didn't know how deep the danger ran or how long it would take to root it out.
But he knew one thing with absolute certainty.
Sabrina Hartley wasn't alone anymore.
And as long as he was breathing, she never would be again.
ChapterTwo
Sabrina stepped out of the truck and onto the gravel, her legs unsteady, like they still hadn't learned the ground was solid again.The morning air felt thicker out here, heavy with what the night had taken.The Norman House Inn, or what remained of it, sat in a jagged heap across the cordoned-off space.Yellow tape fluttered on its posts, snapping in the breeze that came off the water.Smoke curled in thin, stubborn ribbons from the blackened pile, rising toward a sky that had no business being so blue.
She wrapped her arms around her middle and forced her feet to move.One step.Then another.
The last time she'd been on this gravel, everything had been chaos.Sirens, shouting, heat searing her skin until she thought it might blister.Now there was only the low murmur of voices and the distant rumble of engines as the crew finished packing up.The quiet made it worse.It lets the details in.
The front porch was gone.The elegant wraparound that had held a hundred potted geraniums in summer and pine garlands strung with white lights in winter had collapsed into a mess of charred boards and twisted railing.Only one section of posts still stood, half-burned, leaning awkwardly like it couldn't believe it was still there.
Her throat tightened.
"Easy," Colby said softly from beside her.
He had stayed close from the moment they let her sign her discharge papers, a steady presence hovering just inside her peripheral vision.He'd driven her here himself, his truck cab filled with the faint scent of his turnout gear and whatever detergent he used that tried very hard to erase it.He hadn't pushed; he hadn't asked why she needed to come back so soon.He'd just nodded when she said, "I need to see it," and grabbed his keys.
He stayed one step behind her now, giving her space but close enough that she felt him like a hand hovering at her back.
"I'm okay," she said.
It sounded unconvincing, even to her.
She stopped near the tape and stared at the last half-standing porch post.Ash clung to it in streaks, gray and white against the blackened wood.At the base, the old stone foundation her grandfather had reinforced thirty years ago still held firm, as if refusing to admit what had happened above it.
In her mind, she saw her grandmother standing right there, apron dusted with flour, one hand braced on that very post while the other shaded her eyes against the afternoon sun.
