21. Jonah
Jonah
I don’t sleep that night.
None of us do really. Mae is tucked between Ani and Finn in his big bed. Boone offered to stay outside the door, but Finn and I agreed that’s not necessary.
The second the sun crests the trees, I’m outside.
I start with the truck. The passenger-side window is completely gone.
Glass litters the front seat, scattered across the floorboards.
Whoever did it didn’t steal anything. They didn’t open the door or mess with the ignition.
They just shattered it and left it that way.
I sweep the perimeter next. I find two boot prints near the southern gate. My gut tightens.
I finish the sweep and head straight for the barn.
There’s a locked cabinet in the back corner with exactly what I need.
Within the hour, I’ve got new cameras mounted along the porch, one near the rear treeline, and another pointed at the truck.
I sync the feeds to Boone’s secure server.
I test motion sensitivity until I know they’ll trip easily.
Then I head back inside.
I pull one of the pistols from the safe and check the chamber. Boone shoots me a look when I carry it back into the kitchen, but he doesn’t say a word. He knows what I’m doing.
I set the firearm on the top shelf of the pantry, behind the big bag of rice. Mae can’t reach it. Ani won’t know it’s there unless I show her. But I know it’s within arm’s reach if we need it.
I spend the rest of the morning checking locks, rechecking cameras, logging the vehicle damage and the print impressions.
I’m doing all this to show Ani that we can protect her if we need to.
Once I feel satisfied enough to take a few breaths, I go looking for our girl. I find her on the back porch, sitting on the second step.
Mae is inside with Finn. I’ve waited all day to speak with Ani alone.
I ease the door shut behind me. Ani doesn’t turn around. She’s holding a chipped mug of tea in both hands. She’s staring straight ahead.
I sit beside her, careful to leave just enough space so she doesn’t feel crowded. I’ve noticed how quickly she locks up when she feels cornered.
I wait a few seconds before speaking.
“You should’ve told us.”
“I know.” Her voice is flat. “I didn’t think it was a threat.”
“You thought maybe it was just a dead rabbit. A coincidence.”
She doesn’t answer.
I press my elbows to my knees and lean forward, letting the silence stretch. I don’t want to lecture her. She’s not a child. And from what she’s told us, I don’t think anyone’s ever really treated her like an adult.
I don’t want to baby her despite my instincts screaming that I protect her. But I need her to understand that she can trust us and that she needs to lean on us.
“I know why you didn’t say anything,” I say. “You didn’t want us to worry.”
Still nothing.
“You didn’t want to make things worse. Or seem dramatic. Or helpless.”
I turn toward her, watching the way her jaw clenches.
“You can’t protect us by staying quiet,” I tell her. “You already brought us into this. Let us help.”
Her fingers tighten around the mug.
“I should never have brought you into this. It was selfish.”
“You don’t have to carry this alone, Ani.”
“You think I want to carry this alone?”
“No. I think you’ve been carrying it for so long, you don’t know how to set it down.”
She goes quiet again.
I don’t push.
Instead, I ease closer. Just an inch. Then another. Until I’m close enough to easily lay my hand over hers. She doesn’t pull away.
“You’re not a burden,” I say. “Not to any of us.”
She presses her lips together, obviously holding something back.
“You are strong, Ani. You have no idea how strong you are.”
She shifts slightly, like the words make her uncomfortable.
“You left everything you knew. You walked away from a life that was designed to keep you trapped. And when it followed you here, you didn’t fold. You stayed.”
I pause, watching the way her throat moves when she swallows.
“You survived. You got yourself free. You didn’t wait to be rescued.”
Her mouth twists into a smile she tries desperately to hide. I shift again, slowly. I reach out and touch her cheek.
“Come here,” I murmur.
She leans in without hesitation. I wrap an arm around her shoulders and pull her in, pressing her tight against my chest. Her breathing evens out eventually. She lets herself be held. And it’s not something I take for granted.
I press my lips to her temple. “We’ve got you,” I whisper. “No matter what comes.”
She nods against me, and we sit there until the chill sets in. When I finally let her go, she squeezes my hand once before stepping back inside. I wait until the door clicks shut behind her.
Boone joins me on the porch a few minutes later.
He doesn’t say anything. He leans against the railing, arms folded across his chest, eyes scanning the trees.
I cross the porch and stop beside him. “You think it’s Davit?”
“I think it could be,” he says without looking at me. “But it could just as easily be her father’s people. Or both. Or someone else entirely.”
“So we hit first.”
Boone’s jaw tightens. “We hold the line.”
I turn to face him. “You really think playing defense is going to make them back off?”
“It’s not about backing off,” he says. “It’s about keeping them out until we know who’s driving the damn car.”
“And if we wait too long?”
He finally looks at me. “Then we do what we’ve always done.”
My shoulders tense, but I nod once. I understand what that means.
We hold the line. Until the moment we don’t.
Then we end it.