Chapter 17 #2
I laugh, but it comes out a little wobbly. “You know he’ll let you pet him too, right? You don’t have to lurk in the corner like a disgruntled scarecrow.”
“Not what I'm jealous of.”
For a heartbeat, I don’t think I hear him correctly. My eyes stay fixed on where I’m stroking Jasper’s mane. Finally, I turn my gaze to look at him.
“What did you say?”
“Forget it.”
Push or don’t push? I sigh and shake my head.
“Whatever. Come here,” I say, holding out my hand across the stall door.
He looks at my hand like it’s a snake.
Then he reaches.
His palm fits against mine, warm and big and callused. For a second, it’s just the two of us, no horse, no serial killer, no house—just contact.
I squeeze his fingers, once, and then turn our hands outward, pressing the back of his knuckles to Jasper’s nose.
Jasper snorts, breath washing hot over our skin. Bran doesn’t flinch, but I feel the minute shifting of his weight, the way his shoulders loosen fractionally when nothing bad happens.
“See?” I say. “He likes you. You’re both big and dramatic.”
He exhales, a huff that might be a laugh.
“I’m not dramatic,” he says.
“You are the living embodiment of a thundercloud,” I say. “That’s drama.”
Jasper bumps our joined hands again, nudging for more attention. Bran’s fingers curl, almost subconsciously, so he’s not just tolerating the contact—he’s returning it. For a brief, weirdly peaceful moment, the three of us are in a closed loop.
I’m not sure who lets go first.
Probably him.
Definitely him.
I step back out of the stall, brushing hay off my hoodie. When I look up, he’s watching me, expression more open than I’ve seen it.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he says. “Just…you look less like you’re about to jump out of your skin.”
“That’s because the horses are nicer to me than the internet is,” I say. “You should take notes.”
“I’ll do my best,” he says.
We stand there in the barn aisle for a second, breathing the quiet.
Then my phone vibrates in my pocket.
The sound is like a record scratch.
Instantly, the muscles in my shoulders knot back up.
Bran’s whole body shifts, attention zeroing in on me. “Who is it?”
I pull the phone out, thumb already swiping.
Not Nightjar.
Brady.
My lungs unlock.
“It’s Jack,” I say. “Probably wants to yell at me for leaving the house.”
“Put him on speaker,” Bran says.
I do.
“Morning, Gentry,” Brady says. “Tell me you’re inside.”
“We’re inside a building,” I say. “Technically.”
“Barn doesn’t count,” he says. “Jesus.”
“It has walls,” I point out.
“I’m not having this argument before coffee,” he mutters. “Gallagher says Kelly’s with you?”
“Present,” Bran says.
“Good,” Brady says. “I’ve got twenty minutes before state wants to hop on a call. Wanted to give you both the quick version first.”
I brace a shoulder against Jasper’s stall door, phone held out between us. Bran moves closer to hear, his arm brushing my sleeve.
“Quick version of what?” I ask.
“The girl from the Falls,” he says. “The preliminary ID came through. She’s a local. Eighteen. She worked at the diner on Route 9. Her name’s Mia Hart.”
I close my eyes briefly.
A person, not just a victim file. A girl with a job and a name and probably a TikTok account.
“Henry?” Bran asks.
“We don’t know for sure yet,” Brady says.
“But the pattern fits enough to make me sweat, and with him being here taunting Tallulah…yeah. I’m going with Henry.
Unofficially, of course, because I’m not an idiot.
The cause of death looks close to Jason’s preferred method, but there’s some variation.
State’s going to say we’re jumping at shadows, because that’s their job.
I don’t give a flying fuck. I’m treating it like it’s him until I have proof otherwise. ”
“Anything on SmartLittleBird?” I ask, hating the way my voice tightens around the handle.
“Nothing new,” he says. “State’s poking at the logs, but there aren’t any miracles. You know you’re better than anyone they have. For now, we sit on what we’ve got. No more messages from you until we decide our next move. That clear?”
“Crystal,” I say.
Bran doesn’t say anything, but I feel his agreement in the way his posture locks.
“I’m looping ECI in officially this afternoon as a courtesy due to Twiggy’s affiliation,” Brady continues. “Kelly, you’ll probably get a call.”
“I figured,” Bran says.
“Until then,” Brady says, his voice softening a fraction, “you two stay put. Twig, you let the big guy do the paranoid perimeter thing while you keep your brain on the records, not the chat. If he says no, you don’t argue.
If you get anything on Nightjar you’re unsure about, you send it to me first.”
“What is it with you guys being bossy in the morning,” I say.
“Occupational hazard,” he says. “You okay?”
It’s a simple question, but coming from him, it hits like a weighted blanket.
I glance at Bran. He watches me, steady.
“I’m…working on it,” I say.
“Good enough for now,” Brady says. “I’ll be in touch.”
The call ends. Silence folds back in around us, heavy with the name Mia Hart. Bran’s hand is still close to mine, our arms brushing lightly. He doesn’t step away.
“You all right?” he asks. I don't jump his shit for asking this time.
“No,” I say. “But I will be. Eventually.”
His jaw flexes.
“You want to go back in?” he asks.
“In a minute,” I say.
We stay there in the barn aisle, Jasper occasionally snorting like he’s contributing to the conversation, the world outside still cold and gray.
Bran’s shoulder is a solid line at my side. I don’t lean into it.
But I don’t move away, either.