Footsteps on the stairs.
“Aurora…” Finn starts.
She appears in the doorway to the kitchen, framed by dim hallway light. Sweater hanging loose off one shoulder. Hair tangled from sleep.
She takes in the broken window.
The glass.
The whiskey.
Ryder standing rigid near the alley.
Finn blocking the door.
Me kneeling in the middle of it.
Her face drains for half a heartbeat.
“What happened?” she asks. “I can help.”
My grip tightens on the broom. “No, Aurora.”
Ryder shifts slightly, instinctively angling himself so he’s between her and the open alley.
Finn straightens from the doorframe but doesn’t leave it. He’s guarding the exit.
All three of us are positioned around her without meaning to be.
She steps forward anyway.
Her bare feet stop just shy of the worst of the glass.
“I can help,” she repeats.
Anger flares, not at her, at the fact that she even feels she has to kneel in broken glass because of us.
Because of him.
“Stay back,” I say.
She grabs a dustpan from the hook by the sink and crouches too close to the counter.
“There’s glass everywhere,” I warn.
“I see it.”
Ryder is still near the alley door, phone to his ear now, as he talks to someone, insurance, maybe the sheriff, but his eyes keep tracking Aurora.
Finn has shifted fully inside, boots crunching as he circles wide, scanning the rest of the kitchen, making sure this is the only breach.
Aurora reaches for a larger shard.
It slips.
“Ah…”
Blood beads instantly along her fingertip.
