He's still in his practice jersey, hair dark with sweat, and the moment he registers me here, mid-afternoon, wrong place and wrong timing, the grin disappears from his face.
"What happened?"
Instant. No greeting. No hesitation.
"He came to the Chronicle," I say. My voice holds because I force it to hold. "Asked for me at the front desk. My real name." Cole's eyes change, and my fingers curl around the strap of my bag. "And there's a second letter. In my campus mailbox. He's been in the building, Cole."
Cole's hands come to my face, warm from practice and still rough with adrenaline. His jaw locks under the hallway lights. Behind him, players spill toward the locker room, voices bouncing off concrete, but his attention narrows until it feels like he could put his body between me and the entire world.
Dante appears a second later.
His stride lengthens the moment he sees us. By the time he reaches me, something in his face has already gone cold.
"What happened?"
The same words, with Dante's stillness behind them.
"Her father," Cole says. "At the Chronicle. In person."
Dante goes still, and the two players nearest us drift toward the opposite wall without looking at him directly.
His eyes flatten first. Then his jaw locks, and his hand flexes once at his side before he forces it still.
His hand goes to his back pocket. The phone is in his palm and unlocked before he looks back at me. Then he turns the screen toward me.
Marco.
The text is timestamped 12:08 PM, twelve minutes before Rachel called me.
David Ashford arrived on Briarcliff campus at 11:42 AM. Entered building at northwest corner of quad. Departed 12:31 PM. Vehicle confirmed. No intervention because monitoring only was ordered.
They were watching.
They watched him walk into my building and did not intervene because Dante told them to watch, not touch.
Marco's people saw everything and did nothing.
Heat presses under my ribs, sharp enough to make my next breath come thin. I set it aside for now because if I start thinking about that, really thinking about it, I will not be able to stand in this hallway with athletes moving around us and Cole's hands still on my face.
"And a second letter," I say.
I pull the envelope from my bag and hold it out. "Typed this time. Longer. He's getting comfortable."
Dante takes the envelope. His gaze drops to the front.
Charlotte.
His hand tightens around the paper until the edge bows.
"Home," I say before either of them can ask me what I need. "I want to go home."
Home.
The house with the open door and our bed and my tea in the cabinet. The word comes out before I choose it, and my fingers tighten on the strap of my bag like I can hold the place from here.
The letter lies unfolded between us on the kitchen table.
Three chairs. Three bodies. One piece of paper between us, flat under the kitchen light.
