“Don’t come up here again.”
The man’s voice was even. Calm. Flat.
Dale glanced up.
The tenant watched him without expression.
Dale swallowed, suddenly aware of how narrow the hallway felt.
“I know,” he said quickly. “But it’s been a couple of weeks, and the owners keep calling.”
The man tilted his head slightly, as if considering the answer.
Dale finished scribbling the receipt and tore the page free.
The paper ripped loudly in the quiet hallway.
Just as he held the receipt out, a phone buzzed inside the apartment.
The tenant didn’t look away from Dale as he reached for the phone on the small table beside the door.
He checked the screen.
Then lifted it to his ear.
“Sage.”
The door snapped shut in Dale’s face.
Dale stared at it for a second.
He didn’t know who this Sage person was, but he was suddenly very glad he wasn’t him.
Dale shuddered and hurried back down the hall.
Sage ended the call and stared at the phone for a moment before setting it face down on the table.
The small YA cabin still smelled faintly of coffee and last night’s bacon, the open window letting in the dry Nevadamorning and the distant sound of someone working horses near the barn.
Across the room, Micah leaned against the counter with a mug of coffee, long dark hair falling straight over one shoulder as he watched Sage over the rim. His large dark eyes missed little, though he never looked like he was trying to see anything at all.
Boston occupied the far end of an old leather couch, one leg tucked beneath his slender frame. A slim folding knife moved through his restless hands as he cleaned the blade with a scrap of cloth, dark curls falling into sharp chocolate eyes that flicked toward Sage and away again.
Neither of them asked about the call.
That was one thing Sage appreciated about them.
His team noticed things.
They just didn’t always push.
Outside, the morning carried the usual ranch noise—someone shouting near the barn, the low rumble of an engine starting somewhere down the dirt road, Buckshot barking at something that probably deserved it.
Normal.
Sage pushed away from the table and stood, keys already turning once around his finger. Even standing still, he carried the restless readiness of someone who had spent too many years mapping exits and watching doors.
Micah’s gaze tracked the movement with quiet precision.
