I don’t touch her, no matter how much I want to.
Instead, I ground myself in the sound of her breathing, the feel of the floor under my boots, the knowledge that I’m here to help, not unravel.
Marshall cuts through the moment.
“Abilene?”
We both turn. He’s standing on the porch, looking down at something near the door.
“There’s… something here,” he says.
He bends and picks it up.
An envelope.
Plain. Unmarked. Out of place.
Abilene goes very still. All the color drains from her face so fast it’s startling.
“What is it?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer.
Marshall holds it out to her. “It was on your mat.”
Her fingers shake as she takes it.
She reads the front, and whatever she sees there guts her.
“Abilene?” Marshall says, sharper now. “What’s going on?”
She looks up at us.
“I…” Her voice fails. She swallows hard. “I think someone knows something they shouldn’t.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Abilene
Thursday
I don’t tell them right away.
We’re standing in my kitchen, the rain still dripping off jackets and boots, the house smelling faintly of damp wood and honey and that sharp, ghostly edge of smoke that feels like it’s soaked into everything I own.
Marshall has leaned against the counter, arms crossed, posture tight but controlled. Wyatt is near the table, setting his keys down carefully, trying not to startle me.
They’re waiting.
I can feel it.
Marshall’s eyes keep flicking to me. Wyatt’s quieter, but there’s a tension there too, the kind that comes from knowing something’s wrong and not yet knowing how bad.
I’m holding the envelope in both hands.
The paper is ordinary, the kind you could buy anywhere.
There’s nothing special about it, nothing that should make my chest collapse inward. Written on the front is my name, in careful, unfamiliar handwriting.
