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The town knows me right back now.

I should probably be more bothered by that than I am.

By the time we pull into the driveway, my chest feels heavy in that strange, exhausted way where emotions stop feeling dramatic and start feeling structural. Like they’ve moved into the load bearing walls permanently and become part of the architecture.

The house smells faintly of cedarwood and laundry detergent when we step inside.

Lucy’s rain boots sit beside the door crooked and abandoned from this morning. One of her coloring books remains open on the coffee table beside Ashby’s notebook. Apparently, my living room has become a shared ecosystem for emotionally complicated people.

I stare at the notebook.

Briggs notices. “He was running numbers for Seattle.”

My stomach twists. “Already?”

“Sweetheart, Ashby started planning the trip before the phone call with Ivy ended.”

“That man approaches logistics the way medieval knights approached holy wars,” I say, shrugging off my coat before heading into the kitchen. My coffee from earlier still sits abandoned near the sink, looking sadly neglected.

Briggs leans against the counter watching me while I move around the kitchen without accomplishing much of anything.

“You okay?” he asks eventually.

Loaded question.

Terrible question.

The kind people ask when they already know the answer’s complicated enough to ruin everybody’s afternoon.

“I think Sophie knows more than she’s saying.”

“Yeah.”

“Mick too.”

Another nod.

I grip the edge of the counter briefly for support. “And that makes this feel worse.”

Because now there are too many possibilities. Maybe Maggie’s hiding. Maybe she’s terrified. Maybe Tom scared her badly enough that coming back feels impossible now. Or maybe…

No.

I shut that thought down immediately before it finishes forming.

But none of it explains why she would leave Lucy.

Briggs watches the whole process happen across my face. That’s another thing I’m getting used to.

The men notice things too easily.

Ashby tracks emotional shifts like he’s solving equations nobody else can see. Torin reads silence so accurately it borders on supernatural. Briggs notices through instinct. Pure gut level awareness.

Briggs notices danger instinctively, usually before anyone else even realizes it exists.

“I keep thinking about Seattle,” I admit.

Briggs folds his arms loosely. “Yeah?”