23. Finn
Finn
I wake to silence. No birdsong. No soft clatter from the kitchen. No giggles from Mae or grumbling from Boone about someone using all the hot water.
This kind of quiet feels strange, but I’m not about to complain. I never get mornings like this. So, I slip out of bed, check on Mae, and head to the kitchen.
After making the coffee and pouring a cup, I step out onto the porch. The air is damp with early dew. I take a sip and breathe in the fresh air.
I turn toward the porch swing and something catches my eye.
It’s an envelope, sitting on the swing.
We have a mailbox so it doesn’t make sense that the mailman would leave a piece of mail on the swing. And no one else comes up here without us knowing. There are cameras now, and motion sensors and alerts that go to our phones.
And, yet, there it is. It was deliberately placed there by someone who somehow managed to slip in and out unnoticed by all the surveillance technology.
I grab it and take a long look.
“Anoush” is written across the front. That’s it. Her legal first name and nothing else. The script is fancy and the paper looks expensive.
Warring urges to tear it open and burn it both pass through my mind. But I don’t do either. Instead, I subtly scan the treeline looking for movement.
I take another sip of my coffee, set the mug on the rail, and finally decide to open it. After all there’s no way I’m giving this to Ani without reading it first.
I carry it back inside, set it on the kitchen table, and make myself wait a minute. I have no idea what I’m waiting for, but it feels right for some reason. As much as I know reading it protects Ani, it still feels like a violation somehow.
A part of me wants to wake the other guys up so they can share this panic with me.
But they probably won’t panic anyway. They’ll stay calm.
They’ll start planning. And then they’ll make me feel like a child as they completely take over and save the day like action heroes while I sit with my thumb up my ass because I wasn’t trained to be some psycho killing machine.
I wasn’t trained to be much of anything except a firefighter. I was a bit of a wanderer before I settled here. And “here” never felt like home until Ani moved in.
I double check the front door is locked and the shades are drawn. Then I’m back in the kitchen staring at the envelope with my arms crossed.
It’s clearly not a bomb. That’d be bigger, a package probably. Right? Right. It could have some kind of fast-acting nerve agent in it, but that seems like overkill. They want Ani back alive, not dead.
When I finally peel the envelope open, the paper inside slides out easily. It all feels very anticlimactic. It’s just one sheet of thick, white paper, folded cleanly in thirds.
I begin reading…
Anoush—
I know you were scared. I understand how things can spiral when emotions run high.
It’s so fucking polite. I’d almost believe there was actual understanding and concern involved if I didn’t know better.
I understand, truly. But this isn’t how we handle things, Anoush. You’ve had your time. You’ve had your space. But enough is enough. It’s time to come home.
Aaaand, there it is.
I won’t ask again.
I stop, set the letter down, and walk away from the table. Then I walk back.
We know about Mae. Children need consistency and stability. I imagine this has all been very confusing for her. And I know you wouldn’t want to contribute to that confusion.
I press my palm flat to the table and breathe through my nose. Goddamn bastard.
Accidents happen when emotions run high. Mistakes get made when people are under pressure. But you need to come home now.
My hands are shaking now. I have to set the paper down before I rip it in half.
The threat is subtle. But it’s there.
We see you.
We know where you are.
And if you don’t come back, we’re coming to get you.
I fold the letter and slide it back into the envelope. Then I back away from the table and stare at it like it’s radioactive.
They think they’ve already won.
But they don’t realize who they’re fucking with.
Ani cannot know about this. She already has enough to worry about. But Boone and Jonah? They need to see it. They’ve been restrained in their approach to all of this. They won’t be once they read this.
Davit just gave them permission to go full nuclear.
I move fast down the hall, envelope tight in my grip. I push into Boone’s room without knocking, but what I see stops me in my tracks.
All three of them are in the bed.
Ani is tucked in the middle, one of Jonah’s arms wrapped around her waist. Boone is on the other side, flat on his back, the sheet barely covering him from the waist down. They’re all sleeping peacefully.
I stare at them, trying to figure out the right move. How do you wake Boone and Jonah without waking Ani? Perhaps nudge one of them on the arm and see if they’ll wake? Or whisper to them and hope Ani is a deep sleeper?
But instead, I do the dumbest thing I’ve done in a long time.
I slap Boone.
It’s not that hard, just enough to jolt him out of sleep. But who slaps a trained fucking assassin awake? Only an idiot apparently.
His head jerks toward me before his eyes even open. And then, in a move that should’ve surprised exactly no one, his hand shoots up and clamps around my throat.
I gasp, trying to shake him off.
His eyes open and instead of releasing his dear brother, his grip tightens when he sees it’s me.
Boone’s mouth opens like he’s about to yell something. So I slap my hand over his mouth.
“You are going to wake her,” I hiss, fingers prying at his wrist.
His nostrils flare. He growls against my palm, but he doesn’t make any other sounds. His eyes flick down to the envelope in my other hand, then back to my face.
Thank God he lets go of my throat.
Boone leans over Ani to flick Jonah in the ear. He just blinks, looks at the clock, then at the envelope. His face hardens.
I tilt my head towards the hall and head out of the room with the two of them following behind.
We don’t speak until we get to the kitchen. We don’t really even speak then. I slide the envelope across the table and they read it in silence. I watch their faces become more and more angry.
The next move is going to be ours—it’s written all over their faces.
We go about the morning as usual but Ani knows something is up. I can tell by the way she’s looking at all of us.
Boone hasn’t snapped at anyone in over an hour. Jonah’s not muttering about security feeds. And I can’t help but be more cheerful than I normally am. But it’s all fucked up and she can sense it.
Ani is in the kitchen with Mae, helping her sort a set of watercolor paints into some system only the two of them understand. I’m halfway through making pancakes when Boone and Jonah’s phones start alerting.
They’re both on their feet, with intense expressions as they head for the door before the knock even happens.
Although, “knock” isn’t the way to describe what’s happening at our front door. This is not a polite knock. Not a gentle tap-tap from a neighbor looking to borrow a cup of sugar or invite us to a town thing we’ll all pretend we might attend. This one rattles the cabin door.
Boone’s already at the door before I can even blink. Jonah’s right behind him. Neither of them says a word.
I turn the burner off, move the pan to the back of the stovetop, and step around the counter. I manage to get between Ani and Mae and the door just as it opens.
It’s Sheriff Collins. His face is tight and he’s very clearly bracing himself for something.
“Morning,” he says.
“Hey,” Boone replies.
Collins’s eyes look around Boone and Jonah and lock on Ani.
She’s still behind me, holding Mae close. I extend one arm without looking, just enough to stop her in case she plans on moving closer to the door.
Boone crosses his arms and looks at the sheriff. Jonah’s coiled tight, like one wrong word might set him off.
Two deputies flank Collins. I recognize both of them. Everyone knows everyone up here.
One of the deputies has his thumb hooked a little too close to his holster, and my nervous system goes on red alert. He might not mean anything by it. But the sight of it makes my jaw tighten.
Collins lifts a folded sheet of paper in one hand. “Got a warrant,” he says. “I need to talk to the girl.”
Ani gasps behind me.
“What’s this about?” Jonah asks, tone flat.
The sheriff sighs through his nose. “We got a complaint.”
Jonah steps forward once. His voice is calm but edged with a warning. “What kind of complaint?”
Collins doesn’t get a chance to answer.
The deputy on his left speaks first. “There’s concern the girl was taken. That she’s not here of her own free will.”
Collins sighs hard and pinches the bridge of his nose. “There are allegations of kidnapping.”
“What?” Ani’s voice cracks, sharp with disbelief. “That’s not—I’m not?—”
“I know,” Collins cuts in quickly, eyes darting to her. “I know these men. They wouldn’t take a woman against their will.”
“I left. I chose to leave.”
“I know you say you’re here by choice. I believe you. But we still have to check it out.”
I feel her move behind me, so I twist halfway, blocking her with my arm again.
Boone and Jonah brace. I can feel the mood in the room get even hotter.
“What claim?” Boone’s voice is a whole other level of dangerous. “From who?”
“They’re saying you’re not fit to make this decision, darlin’,” Collins answers, eyes darting around the room. “That you’ve been under significant emotional distress and it’s made you unstable.”
Ani’s breath hitches. I turn and watch the color drain from her face.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I say, too loud. “Unstable? Based on what? Her not wanting to be owned like a piece of real estate?”
“Look, I get it. But I’m required to investigate claims like this. And the family is pushing hard.”
“And you’re what?” I ask. “Serving papers on their behalf?”
Collins holds my stare for a second, then looks away.
“I didn’t come here to arrest anyone. But the paperwork is real. They’ve filed for conservatorship.”
Ani makes a soft sound in the back of her throat. It’s small, barely audible, but it guts me all the same. It’s the kind of sound people make when something breaks inside.
Jonah’s entire body tenses. Boone looks like he’s ready to smash someone’s head in.
They’re laying the groundwork to declare her mentally unfit. They’re going to have her returned to their control against her will—not through force, but through court orders and legal red tape.
“If the conservatorship is granted, they’ll have full legal authority over her medical decisions, finances, and where she lives. They’ll be able to remove her from your care.”
“Bullshit!” Boone snaps. “They’re not taking her from us. How do we prove she’s fine?”
The sheriff raises his eyebrows. “What?”
“You said the paperwork is real. Fine. What’s the counter? How do we prove she’s mentally stable and this is all bullshit?”
“I don’t know,” Collins says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Mental health evaluations, affidavits, maybe a lawyer who’s willing to push back hard. This isn’t my wheelhouse, Boone.”
“It is now,” Boone mutters, stepping back like he’s already ready to make shit happen.
“We’ll figure it out,” Jonah says, his voice quiet but solid.
Collins gives us a long look, then nods once. “I’ll do what I can on my end. But no promises.”