"Oh," Tessa breathed. "It's beautiful."
"Copper Moon rainbows are the best." Brian stood beside her, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. "Something about the way the light hits the water. Makes the colors brighter."
She watched the rainbow until it began to fade, the colors bleeding into the sky as the clouds dispersed. The sun emerged fully, warm on her face, and the bay began its slow transformation back to copper.
"Brian," she said, still looking at the water. "Earlier, you said you understood about the startle response. The hyper-vigilance." She turned to face him. "Does it ever get better? The waiting for something bad to happen?"
He was quiet for a moment, considering the question. "It gets different," he said finally. "Some days it's barely there. Other days, it's all I can think about. But the good days start to outnumber the bad ones. And eventually, you realize you've gone a whole week without bracing for impact."
"That sounds like hope."
"I guess it is." He looked at her, and something in his eyes made her breath catch. "You helped, you know. Having someone here who gets it. I didn't realize how much I needed that until you showed up."
"Same," she said softly. "I think I was drowning, and I didn't even know it. And then I walked into your cottage by accident, and somehow... I started to float."
He reached out and took her hand, lacing their fingers together the way he had at Lila's, at Hank and Bree's, in the front seat of his truck. It was becoming familiar now, this connection between them. Something she could count on.
"We're both looking for the same thing," he said. "Peace. Quiet. A place to put down the weight." He squeezed her hand. "Maybe we don't have to look alone."
She felt tears prick at her eyes, but for once, they weren't tears of exhaustion or grief or fear. They were something else. Something that felt dangerously like hope.
"Maybe we don't," she agreed.
They stood there on the dock, hands intertwined, watching the bay turn to liquid copper in the evening light. The motion lights along the fence were quiet. The storm had passed. And somewhere out there, a man in a gray cap might still be watching.
But in this moment, none of that mattered. In this moment, there was only the water and the light and the feeling of Brian's hand warm in hers.
In this moment, she was exactly where she was supposed to be.
Chapter Ten
The motion light flicked on at 11:47 p.m.
Brian was still awake, sitting in the dark living room with a beer he hadn't touched, when the backyard flooded with harsh white light. He was on his feet before his brain fully registered what was happening, crossing to the window in three long strides.
The fence line was empty. Just the light cutting through the darkness, illuminating wet grass and the dark shapes of trees beyond. Could be a deer. Could be a raccoon. Could be any of a dozen nocturnal creatures that call these woods home.
The light clicked off.
Brian stood at the window, waiting. His heart was beating harder than it should, adrenaline spiking through his system the way it used to when a call came in. After a full minute of darkness, he let out a breath and turned away.
Then the light flicked on again.
This time, he saw it. A figure at the edge of the property, just where the fence met the tree line. A man, standing motionless, facing the cottage.
Brian didn't think. He moved.
He was out the back door before the light could click off again, crossing the yard in long, ground-eating strides. The wet grass soaked through his socks instantly, but he barely noticed. His focus was locked on the figure by the fence.
"Hey!" he shouted. "Hey, you! Stop right there!"
The figure turned. For one frozen moment, the motion light caught his face: lean features, dark hair, the glint of eyes that seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it. The same man Tom Cooper had described. The same man Tessa had seen at the fair.
Then he ran.
Brian vaulted the fence without breaking stride, crashing into the underbrush after him. Branches whipped at his arms and face. His bare feet found rocks and roots and God knew what else, but he pushed through, following the sound of the man's retreat through the woods.
It was no use. The man knew these woods better than Brian did, or at least knew them well enough to disappear. By the time Brian reached the small clearing where the path should have continued, there was nothing. Just darkness and the sound of his own ragged breathing and the distant call of a night bird, indifferent to human drama.
