25. Luca
Luca
Blossom and I sit across from each other in the Ember House office with Josie’s access history spread between our laptops.
The audit has taken days because neither of us is willing to settle for a list of files she opened.
We trace every assigned intake she handled, every resident she contacted, and every piece of information Dorian supplied from outside our system.
Blossom runs her finger down the final column. “This includes every resident interview, follow-up appointment, and internal note connected to her credentials. The separate report shows what Dorian gave her without using Ember House at all.”
I compare the names on both lists. Some residents appear only once. Others appear across several weeks of intake notes and follow-up conversations. None of them should learn through a sanctuary-wide announcement that they might have been watched.
“We contact them privately,” I say. “One advocate for each resident, with the exact information connected to them. Nobody should have to wonder whether their name is buried somewhere in a general warning.”
Blossom adds the instruction to the disclosure plan before turning her laptop toward me.
The final systems report confirms that the shared funding portal has been dismantled.
Ember House and Keller Industries now have separate credentials, records, and access controls.
An account created by one organization cannot cross into the other.
I leave one hand over my stomach while I read the confirmation. “The hiring process has to change, but Ember House cannot begin treating every new employee or resident as someone waiting to betray us.”
“Stronger checks do not have to make suspicion the first thing we offer people,” Blossom says as she closes the report. “We can verify references, limit access by position, and review permissions without turning every intake into an interrogation.”
“Then that’s the standard. We protect the records without making trust impossible.”
We carry the last board packet into the expanded wing, where the construction dust has been cleared from the floors and the new rooms stand open for residents to walk through.
Grayson’s plans changed several times after the architects, staff, and residents tested the spaces, but the original intent remains visible in every part of the wing.
The doors close quietly instead of slamming.
Each room has adjustable lighting rather than one fixed overhead setting, and the private rooms give residents space without cutting them off from the rest of the floor.
The shared areas include chairs placed far enough apart that someone can sit near other people without being pulled into a conversation.
Maya stands near the lounge with a room key turning between her fingers. She chose the room overlooking the oak tree and has already asked whether she may move two of the chairs before bringing in her things.
“They’re your chairs,” I remind her as Blossom and I pass.
Maya glances through the open doorway toward the arrangement she has already begun planning. “I want one by the window.”
“Then put it there.”
She slips the key into her pocket and returns to the room with one of the staff members.
Philomena is farther down the hall, showing a new resident where the laundry supplies are kept.
Her former placement site has been dismantled, and she no longer treats every arrival as someone coming to retrieve her.
She has chosen to remain at Ember House and is helping someone else learn the building she now calls home.
Blossom notices where I am looking before she hands me the completed board packet. Grayson’s independent contract rests behind the final approval page. His work belongs directly to Ember House rather than passing through Keller Industries, preserving the separation we promised the residents.
The permanent funding documents follow it.
A protected trust, multiple donor sources, and formal survivor representation will support the sanctuary without allowing one investor to purchase access or governance authority.
Keller Industries remains separate from Ember House’s identity.
Nicholas contributed to the structure without becoming its sole financial foundation.
Blossom’s survivor seat appears among the permanent board positions. She reads that section after I return the packet, then closes the folder against her chest.
“You are allowed to look pleased,” I tell her.
“I am pleased.” Her thumb presses once against the folder’s edge. “I also have three policies to revise before the first official meeting.”
I leave her to the work she has already begun and check the final note attached to Josie’s file. Josie continues cooperating with Thane and now has independent legal representation. Her access remains revoked, and her employment has not been restored.
Cooperation does not undo what she did to the residents or to me.
It also does not require me to decide the rest of her life today.
The independent advocate has Ember House’s public information and can contact the sanctuary if Josie later asks for assistance.
Any request will be considered separately from the investigation and without a promise of forgiveness, employment, or a room.
Oliver finds me near the entrance to the expanded wing before I leave. His eyes are damp, and he wipes beneath one of them before reaching for my collar as though the fabric has shifted enough to require his immediate attention.
“The rooms did it,” he says while straightening the edge. “I made it through the board vote, the trust documents, and Blossom pretending she did not care about her seat. Then I saw Maya holding her key.”
I catch his wrist before he can adjust my collar again. “You’re allowed to be happy.”
“I know.” Oliver presses his face against my shoulder for a moment, then draws back enough to look at me. “You’re not walking into the wedding alone. I do not care which side of the aisle they put me on.”
“I already know that.”
His arms close around me, and I hold him inside the sanctuary we both once needed and now help keep open for someone else. The embrace lasts until his breathing steadies and the grip of his fingers loosens against my back.
When we separate, Oliver smooths the collar one final time and leaves it alone. I take the governance folder from Blossom, tuck it beneath my arm, and follow him toward the main hall.
Maceo is waiting in the home nest when I return. His suit jacket lies across the back of a chair, and the document on his tablet disappears when he locks the screen. He reaches for my hand as soon as I enter and draws me close enough that my knees touch the edge of the bed.
“Thane called while you were finishing at Ember House,” he says. “The court granted the emergency victim-protection order. The bite removal cannot be used to prosecute you within the current case.”
I lower myself beside him and set the governance folder on the nightstand. “Ward cannot use it again?”
“Not through Alastair’s complaint or the current prosecution.” Maceo places the tablet facedown beside him. “The order does not change the broader law, but it removes the threat from this case.”
The ruling does not protect everyone who has been threatened under the same law.
Lorenzo has begun working with advocacy groups on longer reform, and that work will continue long after Alastair’s prosecution.
For me, the part Ward once held over my head can no longer be revived through the complaint.
Maceo’s hand settles over my stomach, warm through my shirt. His thumb moves once beneath the curve before becoming still.
“You’re going to be someone’s first safe place,” I tell him.
His jaw tightens, but he leaves his hand where it is.
After a moment, he leans close enough to rest his forehead against my shoulder, and I turn my face into his hair.
We remain that way while the sounds of the house drift up from downstairs, the children moving through the kitchen and Grayson reminding one of them to carry a cup with both hands.
Later, after the children are asleep, I pass the home study and see Luther step onto the balcony where Maceo is standing alone. Both of them glance toward me before I stop inside the open doorway.
Luther stops beside him. “You have been my counsel, my protection, and the person who stays steady when the rest of us cannot. None of those roles are the reason I want you beside me.”
Maceo turns from the railing. He does not interrupt or make Luther drag the rest of the words out through questions.
“I want you as my mate,” Luther continues. “Our relationship will never resemble the bonds I have with the others, and I don’t need it to.”
Maceo’s shoulders shift with the breath he takes. “I’ve been waiting for you to name it because neither of us knows how to yield without pretending to be someone else.”
Luther reaches for him. “Neither of us has to yield for this to be real.”
Maceo places one hand at the back of Luther’s neck, and Luther mirrors the hold. They stand forehead to forehead, Maceo’s hand firm at the back of Luther’s neck while Luther holds him the same way.
“I can stand beside you as an equal,” Maceo says, his thumb resting beneath Luther’s hairline. “I have been doing it for years.”
Luther keeps his forehead against Maceo’s. “Then stand beside me as my mate.”