“She’s out,” Ethan said softly, stepping around the counter.
He scooped Melly into his arms, and her head flopped briefly against his shoulder. She mumbled as she nestled in.
As he carried her down the hall, the sound came again—a sharp slam of a car door. Honey’s body went still.
She drifted toward the window, careful not to make a sound. Pushing back the curtain, she spotted the unmistakable bulk of government vehicles at the end of the longgravel drive. Their hazard lights blinked in slow pulses, casting orange glows over the tractor parked nearby. Four dark SUVs, each with state plates, blocked the road. Four men in jackets stepped out—buttoned-up, square-shouldered, all business. One of them was already holding a clipboard, and scanning the house.
Her stomach dropped.
No routine department sent four vehicles. Not this late. Not without a reason.
Her pulse jumped. This wasn’t a friendly visit or a follow-up inspection. This was action.
“Who’s that?” a voice said behind her.
Honey startled. Emma stood in the hallway, eyes narrowed toward the window.
“Just a delivery,” Honey said quickly.
“This late?”
“Go get your dad,” Honey said, trying to sound calm.
“He’s singing to Melly. I can just sign for it.” Emma padded forward and reached for the doorknob.
Honey moved fast, stepping directly in her path.
Emma’s hand froze mid-air. “What are you doing?”
Honey’s mind spun as she looked at Emma—freckled, proud, still young enough to believe that magic could solve all her problems. This was the girl who had made wishes to protect her family, who had taken that responsibility into her own hands. The girl who had tried.
Honey couldn’t let her see this.
After everything Emma had done to hold this place together, to protect the people she loved, Honey couldn’t let her think it hadn’t been enough.
“You can’t answer the door for strangers.”
“You’re literally right here.”
Something hot flared in Honey’s chest—panic,maybe, or the need to keep this sweet, brave girl safe from one more unfair thing.
“Emma,” she said, sharper than she meant to, “you are not opening that door. I am an adult, and I told you no. I don’t care if it’s a delivery or Brody Fitch himself, you stay inside. Go. Now.”
Emma’s mouth dropped open, eyes wide. Hurt flashed there, but she turned on her heel and stomped down the hallway. “You’re not my mom.”
Honey exhaled, guilt already tightening in her throat, but there wasn’t time to fix it now.
She grabbed her cardigan from the hook by the door, pulled it tight around her, and stepped outside.
The air had shifted. It smelled of the thick, charged breeze that came right before a summer storm cracked open the sky. Dark clouds pulled together overhead. The gravel crunched beneath her boots as she marched toward the vehicles.
One of the men looked up. “Evening,” he said, adjusting the clipboard against his arm.
“Honey Baxter from the Bureau of Compliance.” She held out her hand, but he didn’t take it. Instead, he looked back down at his clipboard.
Of course. She could practically see the calculation in his eyes: a woman, not in a suit, not standing behind a badge, was not worth the courtesy.
Still, her spine snapped straight. She’d worked too long in too many low-lit basements of city buildings not to recognize the kind of man who thought the thing between his legs gave him more authority than her actual title did.
