Chapter Thirty-three – Holt
The morning after the fire feels uneasy.
That’s the first thing that gets under my skin when I step out onto the porch with a mug of coffee gone lukewarm in my hand and look across the property.
The sky has cleared overnight, the hard edge of the storm scrubbed out until all that’s left is pale blue and damp air and sunlight stretching itself across Otter Creek like the land didn’t just lose part of itself.
The remains of the barn sit at the far edge of the pasture, blackened and half collapsed, the frame twisted in places where the heat bit deepest. Smoke no longer rises from it, but the smell still hangs in the air faint and bitter, woven through the cleaner scent of wet earth and trampled grass.
Every time the wind shifts, it carries the reminder back to me.
We were lucky. That’s what everyone kept saying. Deputy. Marshal. Mac. My mother, though she phrases it differently because Claire Wright has never once in her life believed luck should get credit for what she considers answered prayer and human stubbornness.
I know what they mean. I just don’t know what to do with it.
Luck doesn’t cover the image of Lark inside that barn, smoke around her, face streaked dark, one hand curled around Rook’s collar while the fire climbed the back wall behind her.
Luck doesn’t touch the sound of wood giving way over my head.
Luck doesn’t explain how close everything came to ending in a way I wouldn’t have survived, regardless of whether my body did.
The porch boards creak softly behind me. I don’t turn right away; I know the sound of her steps now. Lighter than Hadley’s, more measured than my mother’s, still carrying that slight hesitation that says she never fully enters a room without first deciding what version of herself it needs.
Lark stops beside me, close enough that I feel the heat of her before she says anything.
She’s wearing one of my sweatshirts again, sleeves pushed to her forearms, her bandaged arm (which she hadn’t even noticed was injured while she was taking care of me) held just a little differently than the other, no matter how much she tries to act like it doesn’t hurt.
Neither of us speaks for a second. We just stand there looking at the same stretch of land, the same damage, the same undeniable proof that nothing can go back to what it was before.
“Coffee’s cold,” she says finally.
I glance down at the mug in my hand and huff out something close to a laugh. “You’ve been here five seconds and already criticizing me.”
Her mouth curves slightly. “I’m observant.”
“That’s one word for it.”
It should feel easy, this exchange. It almost does.
The ease is there, but so is everything underneath it.
The memory of yesterday. The note. The fire.
The knowledge that Kenzie will be in custody still doesn’t make the world feel any safer.
Maybe because some damage keeps living after the threat is gone.
The phone rings just as I’m about to step back inside. Something tells me I can’t ignore it for five minutes and then come back to it.
Unknown number.
I hesitate for half a second, then answer.
“This is Holt.”
“Hi, Holt. It’s Deputy Harris.”
My shoulders go tight automatically.
“We’ve got her.”
The words settle into the pit of my stomach, bile rising with each passing second.
“Where?” I ask, shoving my free hand through my hair that desperately needs a trim.
“Pulled her over about twenty minutes outside town. She didn’t run.”
Something about that knowledge doesn’t sit right.
“Didn’t argue either,” he adds. “Not at first.”
Not at first. I glance out toward what’s left of the barn.
“What changed?”
There’s a pause on the other end.
“She asked about you.”
My grip tightens on the phone.
“About me…”
“And Lark.”
Of course she did.
“She knew the farm,” he continues. “Knew where the barn sat. Knew the layout well enough to describe it without seeing it.”
That confirms what I already knew, even though I’d never once considered bringing her to my property. We always met at her townhouse.
This wasn’t random.
“She say anything else?”
Another pause, much longer this time, which makes the hair on the back of my neck rise.
“Yeah.”
I wait.
“Started talking when we cuffed her.”
That sounds about right. People like Kenzie don’t break quietly.
“What’d she say?”
The deputy exhales.
“Kept repeating that it wasn’t supposed to go like that.”
My jaw tightens.
“Did she say why?”
“She said—” He hesitates, like he’s deciding how much to repeat. “She said you were supposed to see it.”
Cold moves through me, not fear, but something more vengeful.
“She said it was supposed to make you remember her.”
I don’t respond because what the hell can I say to that?
“She also said,” he adds, quieter now, “that Lark wasn’t supposed to be there, but was glad she was.”
“What happened after that?” I ask.
“The ranting started,” Harris says bluntly. “Yelling. Saying she did what she had to. That you made her do it by ‘moving on like she didn’t matter.’”
I close my eyes for half a second.
Possession.
Escalation.
Exactly what I thought was coming. I just didn’t act fast enough.
“We’ve got her in holding,” he continues. “Arson, endangerment, trespassing, attempted murder—charges are stacking up.”
Doesn’t feel like enough.
But it’s something.
“She ask for anything?”
“Just you.”
That doesn’t surprise me.
“She’s not getting that,” I say, my hand clenching into a fist at her audacity.
“No,” he agrees. “She’s not.”
A pause.
“You did good,” Harris adds. “Getting everyone out. Could’ve gone worse.”
I look back toward the barn again. All blackened and collapsed. Almost nothing left.
“Yeah,” I say quietly.
“Could have.”
I lower the phone slowly, and for a second, I just stand there letting the news settle.
It’s over, or at least this part of it is. No more shadows moving around the property. No more second-guessing every sound after dark. No more wondering how far she’s willing to take it.
And somehow, it doesn’t feel like relief because some damage doesn’t undo itself just because the person who caused it is locked behind a door.
The screen door creaks softly behind me. Lark steps out onto the porch, stopping when she sees my face.
“What is it?”
I turn toward her.
“It’s done,” I say.
Her brows pull together slightly.
“Kenzie.”
Understanding hits instantly.
“What happened?”
“They picked her up.”
Her shoulders drop just slightly, but not fully relaxed.
“Is she—”
“In custody with a lot of charges coming,” I confirm.
She exhales, slow and controlled. Like she doesn’t trust the feeling yet either.
“Did she say anything?”
I hesitate. Not because I don’t want to tell her, but because I don’t want her to carry it.
Except she’s already part of this, already lived through it.
“She thought it would make me remember her,” I say.
Lark’s expression shifts, her eyes widening a fraction.
“She set a fire for attention.”
“Yeah.”
A beat passes, her gaze sharpening.
“She underestimated me,” Lark says quietly.
That…that almost makes me smile.
“Yeah,” I agree. “She did.”
Lark steps closer, her hand finding mine without hesitation.
“And she underestimated us.”
She couldn’t have said anything truer. I tighten my grip on her hand slightly.
“Yeah,” I say again.
“She did that too.”
I set the mug down on the porch railing and drag a hand over the back of my neck. My shoulder pulls in protest, the burn and bruising reminding me that my body hasn’t caught up to the part of me already trying to move on to the next thing that needs fixing.
Lark notices immediately.
“You should still be resting.”
I look at her, taking in the seriousness in her face, the way concern settles there more easily now than it did when she first got here. It used to flash and disappear. Now it stays. That should scare me more than it does.
“So should you,” I say.
“That wasn’t an answer.”
“No,” I agree. “It wasn’t.”
A small silence opens between us. Not awkward.
Not empty. Just full of the kind of things that don’t fit cleanly into language.
I open my arms, and she easily slips closer into my embrace.
Her gaze drifts back to the barn, and I watch the exact second her expression changes.
Softens maybe. Or tightens in a different place.
She feels it too, the loss. Not because it was hers, but because it mattered to me.
Cars start coming up the drive before either of us can say anything else.
The town doesn’t exactly gather. It accumulates.
A truck here. A car there. By the time my mother’s SUV comes around the bend, probably filled with enough casseroles to feed a church potluck, Bailey and my brother Crew behind her, Lila’s just pulling in from the other direction with two coffees balanced in one hand and Dean’s truck not far back.
People in places like this don’t always know what to say when something breaks, but they know how to show up.
Mom is halfway up the walk before the engine fully cuts. She doesn’t waste time on commentary, just thrusts a foil-covered dish into my hands and kisses my cheek hard enough to make the point clearer than words would.
“You look tired,” she says.
“Good morning to you too, Mom.”
She ignores that and immediately turns to Lark, her whole face shifting in that way it only does around people she’s decided are hers, whether they agreed to it or not.
“You’ve eaten?”
Lark blinks once. “Not yet.”
Mom gives her a look that says this answer has disappointed her on a personal level and sweeps past both of us into the house before either of us can defend ourselves.
Hadley arrives next with all the subtlety of weather. She doesn’t come up the walk so much as charge it, sunglasses on top of her head and a grocery bag in each hand like she’s gearing up for battle and brunch at the same time.