Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 58377 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58377 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
He doesn’t press. Later, he sends word through Hartley that he’ll be stepping aside officially, not just for the roadshow. Interim CEO. Voluntary testimony. Therapy. It’s a nice string of words. I tuck them in a box labeled we’ll see and close the lid for now.
The night before BRAVO breaks down their command trailer, we have a handover meeting at the dining table with the HarborShield lead—a man named Nathan with steady eyes and a binder full of practical. Edgar sits in, proud as if we’re launching a new ship. Sawyer talks him through the protocols he designed: the QR code guest system, the blind spots we found and fixed, the way sound travels badly in the east hall but too well in the conservatory. He hands over a thumb drive of SOPs that could run a small nation. Nathan’s pen scribbles like a hummingbird.
“Two agents on site at all times?” he confirms.
“Three, until the hearing,” Sawyer says.
Nathan nods. “We’re not Maddox, but we care about our clients.”
“I know,” I say, and see Sawyer’s jaw notch.
When the meeting ends, Riggs and Rae disappear on errands that are excuses to give us a minute. The trailer’s door is open to the garden, and the night draws a shadowy breath.
Sawyer rests his hands on the back of a chair, fingers flexing on the carved wood. “Tomorrow we pull our hardware and let Nathan’s team stand the line.”
“Right.” The word is a smooth stone, and I turn it in my mouth. “Thank you.”
He shakes his head once. “Don’t thank me for doing the thing I promised.”
I shift my weight. The floorboard squeaks—a stupid human noise in a house that’s held too much not-human lately. “You don’t want to leave.”
“No.” He doesn’t paint it pretty.
“And I’m not ready for you to stay. Not the way it was.” That hurts to say. It’s the only honest thing. “I keep seeing doorways when I close my eyes.”
“I know,” he whispers, and I believe him.
“I want…” My throat tightens around the truth. “I want the next thing we build not to be on top of a crater. I want a kitchen table stained on purpose. I want to invite you in without the word guard in the air.”
He is very still. “Tell me what you need.”
“Time,” I say. “And… proof. Not from you—” I shake my head quickly when something in his face flickers. “From the world. That it can go a week without trying to eat us.”
“It can try,” he says, mouth curving. “We’ve gotten very good at making it fail.”
I laugh once, a tiny, cracked thing. “Stay in the city awhile? Not in this house, not in that hallway. Be reachable. Drink coffee like a civilian. Text me photos of boring things. Let me miss you in a way that isn’t breathing through duct tape.”
His eyes go soft at the corners. “I can do that.”
“Good.” I reach out—briefly, brave—and brush my fingers over his knuckles where they grip the chair. A current arcs. He could trap my hand, but he doesn’t. “Tell me when the hearing dates are. I want to stand at the back of the room.”
“You won’t have to stand alone.”
“I know.” I look up at him, and then down at our nearly-not-touching hands. “Don’t go too far.”
“Never,” he says, that private vow tone that bends something inside me into a shape that fits my ribs again.
The next day is all cables and cases and the sound of things unlatching. The BRAVO trailer folds its silver mouth; Rae wraps up cords with the satisfaction of a job done mercilessly well. Riggs hugs Vanessa—who pretends she doesn’t like it and then doesn’t let go for ten seconds too long. He clasps Edgar like they’re old friends headed back to the same war. Andersson scratches the K-9 he’s borrowed one last time under the collar. Our house, which had learned the BRAVO heartbeat, quiets.
Nathan’s agents take their posts. Their polos look almost cheerful. They wave at me like neighbors. I wave back. The world shrinks to the normal size of a wealthy family with a bad month, and it feels almost obscene and exactly right.
Sawyer does one more perimeter walk at dusk, not because he needs to but because leaving without it would feel like leaving a door open. I join him halfway, under the wisteria that smelled like honey the night I let him into my bed for the first time. The scent tonight is sharper, as if the vine has learned a lesson about sweetness and edges.
We walk without touching, our arms almost brushing, his stride shortened to match mine without letting me pretend it’s not because of the deep bruise blooming over my hip.
At the south garden gate, we stop. The cut grass where the van idled looks like nothing, a patch that could be anywhere. My stomach rolls anyway.