I began creating my connection chart, writing each suspect’s name and known information on separate cards. As I worked, I found myself unconsciously mimicking Dungar’s methods, aligning each card precisely, using the exact same spacing between elements, even color-coding different types of connections with his same colors.
Halfway through, I paused, suddenly aware of what I was doing. I’d spent two years adapting to different environments, but always on my own terms, maintaining the parts of myself I considered essential. Yet here I was, voluntarily adopting Dungar’s organizational style because it made me feel secure.
The realization stunned me. I wasn’t just staying in Dungar’s house or sharing his bed. I was internalizing his patterns, finding comfort in his methodical approach to the world.
And I didn’t mind one bit.
“Everything alright?” Dungar’s voice pulled me from my thoughts.
I turned to find him watching me. “Yes. Just thinking about how quickly I’m adapting to life here.” I gestured to my meticulously arranged chart. “I’m even organizing things your way.”
A smile tugged at his mouth. “Is that a problem?”
“No.” I returned to placing my cards. “It’s just surprising how natural it feels.”
Dungar crossed to stand beside me. “Some people fit together without needing to change who they are.”
“Like puzzle pieces?” I asked.
“Exactly.” His fingers brushed mine as he helped me attach a string between two suspects. “Your methods and mine. Different but complementary.”
We worked side by side for the next hour, building a visual representation of the connections we’d uncovered. Mary Bustier, the maintenance worker, had the most opportunities to access restricted areas. Joyce had been seen talking with both Mary and Ava on multiple occasions. Ava, the photographer, had documented luminooks extensively during her stay.
But solid evidence linking any of them to the thefts remained elusive.
“I need more,” I said, stepping back to examine our work. “Something concrete.”
He forwarded Mary’s resume to me, but all it showed was prior maintenance experience. Although…
“This only goes back ten years,” I said. “Mary’s in her late fifties. She must have other work experience.”
“Few employers look back further than that, us included.”
It made sense, but I wish I knew more about her. Sadly, my online search didn’t bring anything up, but not everyone had an online presence, especially older people.
Dungar handed me a cup of coffee, prepared exactlythe way I liked it. Another small way he’d adapted his life to include me. “Does Ava post her work online?”
“Probably.” I took a sip of the perfectly made coffee. “Most nature photographers maintain websites or blogs to showcase their portfolios.”
I returned to my computer and conducted a search, expecting to find a professional website with carefully curated images.
Hers did as well, but…
The only problem was that each showed a different orc creature—those only found here at Lonesome Creek.
Chapter 18
Dungar
“Would you rather be slightly cold or slightly hot for the rest of your life?” Riley asked, her fingers intertwined with mine as we strolled along the edge of the sorhox pasture behind my house. Moonlight silvered her skin and turned her hair into a river of shadows cascading down her back.
“Slightly cold,” I said. “Easier to add layers than to cool down.”
“Practical answer.” She bumped her shoulder against my arm, the top of her head barely reaching my bicep. “I’d choose hot. I’ve been cold for too long.”
She wasn’t just talking about temperature, but the years she’d spent running, hiding, never letting herself get comfortable. Never letting herself feel safe.
After speculating about why Ava only showed images of orc creatures and coming up with no answers, we’d left work, agreeing not to discuss the luminook investigationtonight. This evening was for us, for learning more about each other. Yet her past colored everything, as did my need to protect her from it.
