Page 84 of Ironwood Ranch Cowboys

I take it without letting our fingers touch.

The words are blunt. Heavy marker. Pressed hard enough to leave grooves.

YOU DON’T BELONG HERE.

I fold it once more and slip it into my pocket.

“I need the timeline on everything,” I say. “Start with the card.”

She exhales, clearly hating all of this, and gives it to me anyway. The missing SD card. The first note. Today at the trail. The shape in the trees.

The fact that she caught a blurred shot before whoever it was disappeared.

That gets my attention. “You have the photo?”

“I haven’t printed it yet.”

“Do that first, while I sort this out,” I say. “And for now, I’d feel better if you didn’t go out alone.”

Her stare steels. “No.”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I’m trying to keep you safe.”

She’s standing there with her hair half falling loose, anger bright in her face, shoulders squared against me because I’m a problem she refuses to yield to, and the worst part is that some deeply inconvenient me part of me admires her more every time she does it.

That’s not useful right now, so I lock it down where it belongs.

“What would you propose instead?” I ask.

She narrows her eyes, thrown by the question.

Good.

“I keep working,” she says after a beat. “I tell you if something happens again. I stay aware. I don’t stop living my life because someone wants to scare me.”

“Not enough.”

“It’s what you’re getting. If I want to leave, I will, but I’ll always tell someone where I’m going.”

The old pressure returns between my shoulder blades. Decision. Obligation. Action.

I reach for the doorknob, then pause before I open it.

“You keep me informed,” I say.

Her eyes narrow. “And you don’t lock me in a tower?”

“I don’t own a tower.”

“Silas.”

I exhale. “No escorts unless we decide it’s necessary.”

She studies me carefully. “And I keep working.”