Chapter 24
chapter
twenty-four
Millie hadn’t bothered to turn the lights on when she’d slipped into her room. Instead, she’d gone straight to her bed and sat down, needing to sort her thoughts.
The tremor had finally caught up to her.
Caleb had always left her like that—feeling off-balance but in a good way.
He’d been attentive without being suffocating. Protective without making her feel small. He’d treated her like she mattered, treated her like she was a princess, she’d teased him once.
She hadn’t been joking.
Maybe that was why it had hurt so badly when he ended things. There had been no slow fade or major fight. Just a quiet decision she hadn’t been invited into.
Afterward, she’d told herself she’d imagined the depth of their feelings for each other—that she’d built more out of it than Caleb had.
Garrick, on the other hand, had been different from the beginning. Charming in a loud, consuming way. He’d easily given flowers and compliments. He’d made promises that had been spoken too early, too easily.
Millie had mistaken his intensity for devotion.
The first time she tried to leave him, she’d packed a bag while he was at work and driven three hours. He’d called before she reached the state line.
As he’d talked to her, he’d been calm and reasonable. He’d known exactly what to say.
“I’m sorry, Millie. I’m so sorry.” His voice had broken convincingly.
“You’re right to leave. I’ve been terrible.
But please, just come home so we can talk face-to-face.
You deserve that much—to tell me everything I’ve done wrong.
I’ll listen. I promise.” A pause. “And we need to figure out the practical stuff, right? The apartment lease, the bank accounts, your car insurance. Let’s do this the right way. ”
He’d made it sound so reasonable. So mature. Like they’d have a calm conversation and sort everything out properly.
She’d turned around. When she’d walked through that door, he’d dropped the act immediately.
No conversation. No sorting things out. Just his fist and a clear message: She didn’t get to leave.
It had taken another year—and another hospital visit—before she left him for real.
Millie pressed her fingers to her eyes. Tears burned, stubborn and unwelcome.
She blinked them back then let them fall anyway.
Biscuit hopped up beside her and rested his head on her thigh.
“I know,” she whispered, threading her fingers through his fur. “I’ve got to get ahead of these emotions.”
She lay back in bed and stared at the ceiling, the quiet settling around her.
That was when the feeling hit her.
It wasn’t a sound or movement.
It was . . . an awareness.
The fine hairs along the back of her neck lifted, sharp and unmistakable. Her pulse stuttered, then kicked hard.
She sat up slowly, scanning the dark room for any telltale signs of what had caused the feeling.
Best she could tell, nothing in the room had changed.
Still, the sense lingered. She felt as if she’d walked into a space someone else had just vacated. Like the air had been disturbed and hadn’t quite settled back into place.
She hadn’t noticed it when she first came in. She’d been too distracted by her emotions. But now . . . she wondered how she’d missed it.
Her hand slid to Biscuit’s collar. He didn’t growl. Didn’t move. Just watched her, ears tipped forward, calm but alert.
He sensed her fear, didn’t he?
“Okay,” she whispered. “It’s okay.”
She reached for the lamp and snapped it on.
Light flooded the room. Millie stood and checked the corners. Then the closet. The bathroom. Under the bed.
Her bag lay exactly where she’d left it, half-zipped. Her phone was on the nightstand.
Nothing was missing or out of place.
She exhaled slowly and forced her shoulders to drop.
Maybe she’d just been imagining things.
Who could blame her? Tonight had been a lot.
You’re safe, she told herself. This place is safe.
So why did she feel certain someone had been in her room? She had no proof—only gut instinct.
Just to be safe, she locked the door. Then she settled back onto the bed, and Biscuit jumped up beside her. His head settled on her lap, familiar and warm.
Millie rested her hand on him and let the quiet return.
Maybe it was nothing.
Maybe this feeling was simply the echo of everything she’d lived through. Maybe danger had taught her body to stay a step ahead of her mind.
Still, as she leaned back against her headboard and closed her eyes, the feeling didn’t fully fade.
There was someone here she couldn’t trust.
And she wasn’t sure what to do about it.
Caleb closed the door to the office behind him, crossed to the desk, and switched on the lamp.
All his paperwork lay exactly where he’d left it. Intake folders were stacked neatly to one side. The printer was idle. Nothing was disturbed or obviously out of place.
He didn’t usually look for anything abnormal. But considering all that had happened, he needed to pay attention to everything—at least until he had some answers.
Caleb sat at his desk chair, grabbed the top folder, and opened it.
It held Valentina’s intake forms. Naomi had gone through this process with Valentina, and he hadn’t had the chance to review her information yet.
He scanned the page on top.
It was handwritten in blue ink, the handwriting tidy and legible without flourishes.
That wasn’t his sister’s handwriting. Valentina had filled this out herself.
First and Last Name: Valentina Reyes.
Age: 32.
Former residence: Lynchburg.
Employment: none.
He flipped the page and scanned the information on Pippa.
When he finished, Caleb exhaled slowly and leaned back in his chair.
Then he flipped to the intake narrative.
This handwriting belonged to Naomi—these were her personal notes.
Feels unsafe returning home. Needs temporary housing. No active restraining order.
There was no mention of a partner. No names to flag. No recent police reports.
That was unusual. In general, they liked to know who might be a danger to their guests. They liked names and faces. That way, they could keep their eyes open for any signs of trouble.
But Valentina hadn’t listed anyone.
Sometimes, women did this out of fear. He and Naomi didn’t always push. After all, this was a shelter not a prison.
He reread the intake forms, but nothing jumped out or made him suspicious.
Caleb set the folder down and rubbed his thumb along the edge of the desk.
Millie’s face lingered in his mind, and their conversation about Valentina replayed itself.
She seems familiar.
Millie wasn’t the type to stir trouble. She’d spent too much time managing fallout to have any desire to create it. If she’d said something, that meant her instincts had nudged hard enough she couldn’t ignore them.
Caleb slid the folder back into the stack. Then he leaned back and stared at the wall, replaying the past couple of days in pieces—spotting the drone, the kennel sabotage, Valentina’s arrival, the way everything felt slightly misaligned.
You’re just tired. Wired. Looking for patterns that aren’t there.
But he couldn’t ignore the lingering bad feeling in his gut.