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“Can they even get STIs?” she asks like it’s one of the great philosophical questions. “Probably not, right?”

“One of Marthe’s boys would be a catch, though.”

I shouldn’t eavesdrop, but my curiosity drags me outside behind them.

“Don’t bother. Tamika threw herself at the one that moved back to town, and he shut her down. And she’s clan. Those boys are picky.”

One of Marthe’s boys. There’s more than one, apparently, and one of them turns women down flat. I could guess which.

“Pity,” she says. “Hey, want to come to Anchorage with me this weekend? More guys to choose from,” she adds in a singsong voice as they get in their car.

Next to the bookstore is an outdoor supply store with too many guns for my liking, and then I’m standing outside a tour booking office.

Nick’s tour office.

It’s closed up, a small sign flipped to Back in 5 minutes. On the other side of the big window is a low counter with an empty chair behind it, brochures stacked in a display stand in the corner. The back wall is painted in the same swirling blues, greens, and purples as the aurora with the Nightwatch Expeditions logo in the center. Next to the shopfront is a garage door, and above are windows for what appears to be a residence. Maybe he lives here too?

It’s enough to make me turn on my heel and cross the road for fear of running into him or, shudder, seeing him naked in his bedroom window. The embarrassment would kill me.

A small grocery store faces it from across the street, calling me away from a disaster waiting to happen. It’s no Whole Foods, but it does have everything a person needs to not die. A copy of the Ravenslight Chronicle goes in the basket, along with actual food.

The main street, which, in a spark of originality, is called Main Street, has a bar on it. Two stories, dark wood, with a rusted sign made from sheet metal nailed above the entrance. The Tipsy Ptarmigan. Whatever a ptarmigan is.

Across from there is a grassy park that runs down to the rocky shore of the gurgling creek. On this side, there’s a neatly paved path, a gazebo, and a trash can. On the other, thick trees climb up the mountain between rocky outcrops, snow dusting the topmost branches where they almost touch the clouds. It’s like civilization found the edge of this creek and stopped.

Down by the steel bridge that leads into town, three squat stones sit close together, three more balanced across them at odd angles, and a low flat rock on top worn into a dish. There’s a year carved into the base, 1790, cut deep and badly. No plaque, no names, nothing about what happened in 1790 that was worth seven rocks.

Ten minutes before my shift, I push open the door to the cafe to find a guy behind the counter. He has familiar dark brown hair and pale gray eyes, but set into a slightly more boyish face, one that’s had less practice at scowling. They have to be related.

“Ellery?” The grin is all of him, dimple included.

I nod.

He bounds over. “I’m Luca. Marthe’s best and favorite son.” He waves a hand around the busy cafe. “Ask anyone.”

“It’s true,” a girl in the back murmurs.

I can’t fault her for being a fan. I’ve known him for five seconds, and I wholeheartedly agree.

Marthe comes bustling out of the kitchen, two plates balanced along one arm, and palms Luca’s head with the other hand, pulling him close to plant a kiss on his temple. “Don’t be cheeky.” She deposits the meals in front of two customers. “Luca will show you the ropes.”

“Let’s start with making coffee.” He claps his hands together, and I follow him behind the counter.

We spend the next hour going over the menu, taking orders, and getting lost in the storeroom.

“Each item is coded into the system, but it’s easy to make changes.” He nods at a Black man in his sixties, gray hair cropped close, methodically working his way through a slice of pie like he has nowhere to be. “Exhibit A. Pete. Bacon on everything.” He leans in next to my ear. “And I mean everything. Even pie. Tap it and make any adjustments.”

Pete was here my first day, collecting something for Carter.

I nod, trying to remember all of it.

“Now you have a go.” He steps aside for me as a tall young woman comes up with a twenty between two fingers, freckles across her nose, already smiling at Luca before he’s said anything.

“Hey, Rowan.” Luca leans on the counter. “This is Ellery. She started today.”

“Welcome to Ravenslight Creek,” she says like she means it. “I love your dress.”

“Thank you.” I ring up her order, and the register spits out her receipt. “That’ll be $352.99…wait, what?”