But that wasn’t the worst part.
The worst part was the empty space where her working files had been. The subset she’d kept in the office—not the originals, not everything, but enough to show the pattern. The permits with the discrepancies circled. The survey comparisons. The timeline she’d been building for two years.
All of it. Gone.
She stood in the doorway with Ronan’s hand on her shoulder, unable to move. Unable to think. First, her house. Now her office. They were taking everything, piece by piece, dismantling the evidence she’d spent years assembling.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
Don’t touch anything. I’m already pulling footage from the hotel across the street. Stay with her.
Caleb. Ronan texted him from the car.
She looked at the chaos around her and felt something break loose in her chest. Not fear—she’d moved past fear somewhere between her house last night and this hallway. This was rage. Pure, clean, clarifying rage.
Someone had come into her space. Her office. Her town. And they’d taken the evidence that might have proved what was happening in Blossom Springs.
She hadn’t realized she was crying until a tear dropped onto her phone screen. "They took everything." Her voice was steady, flat. "All of it. My father's notes. The copies I made. The timeline I built. Two years of work, and it's just—gone."
He crouched beside her, his hand finding her shoulder. The touch was warm, grounding. "The originals. You said you kept them at home."
"I did." She looked at him. "They came here. They didn’t find the files last night, I checked. Which means?—"
"They don't know about the originals. They think they got everything."
"Or they wanted to send another message."
He was quiet for a moment. "That's smart thinking."
"I've had two years to learn how they operate." She pushed herself to her feet. "Subtle. Deniable. Just enough to scare you without giving you anything to report."
"You're going to report this."
"Am I?" She looked at the open door of her office. "Report what? A break-in at town hall? Chief Fielding will take a statement, file it away, and nothing will happen. Because nothing ever happens."
"Lila—"
"You know I'm right." She turned to face him. "Fielding has been here for twelve years. If he wanted to investigate what's happening in this town, he would have done it by now. He's either part of it, or he's decided looking the other way is easier."
Ronan didn't argue. That told her everything she needed to know.
"So what do we do?"
"We document this ourselves. Photograph everything. Then you report it officially—go through the motions, make it look normal. Meanwhile, Caleb is pulling the security footage from the surrounding buildings."
"The town hall building doesn't have cameras."
"No, but the hotel across the street does. And the bank on the corner. Someone saw something."
She watched him pull out his phone and start typing. Efficient. Focused. Like this was just another problem to solve, another piece of the puzzle falling into place.
"You expected this," she said. "Not this specifically, but—something like this."
He looked up. "I told you they'd come for you eventually. I hoped we'd have more time."
"How much time do we have now?"
"Not much." He pocketed his phone. "Whoever did this knows you're a threat. The anonymous text means they want you scared, want you to know you're being watched. The next step is usually an offer."
