Chapter 17
Sunshine
By late afternoon, the clubhouse had settled into the uneasy version of normal that followed every crisis no one could resolve quickly.
Children sprawled across blankets in front of the television while an animated movie played loudly enough to cover the muted conversations happening near the kitchen.
Volunteers carried trays of sandwiches and fruit between rooms, brothers rotated through security posts, and every few minutes someone stepped into the hallway to answer a phone call in a voice deliberately kept too low for frightened residents to overhear.
Nothing about the day was truly ordinary, yet everyone behaved as though preserving routine were another kind of protection, something built from familiar meals, children’s laughter, and the refusal to let fear become the loudest presence inside the building.
I sat on the floor beside Charlie with my back resting against the couch, one hand absently smoothing her curls while she leaned against my shoulder and watched Pancake the dragon’s latest imaginary adventure unfold across a sheet of construction paper balanced on her knees.
The actual movie had lost her attention almost immediately.
Instead, she whispered a running account of why Pancake needed to rescue Mr. Pickles from an army of broccoli soldiers, occasionally pausing to ask whether dragons could carry motorcycles and whether castle kitchens stocked enough syrup for royal bears.
I answered every question with the seriousness she expected, though my mind kept drifting toward the conference room upstairs, where Cipher continued searching property records connected to Restoration, Sanctuary, and Harvest.
Brother Malachi finally had a name.
Not a real one, perhaps, but enough of one to give shape to the man who had stood in the woods watching Harbor House.
Even now, I could see the scar near his ear, the relaxed posture, and the cold indifference that had always surrounded him whenever the supply wagons arrived.
He had never needed to raise his voice. Men moved when he entered, women lowered their eyes, and children disappeared from walkways without being told.
Inside the Order, power rarely announced itself loudly.
The most dangerous men were often the quietest because everyone else had already learned what silence from them meant.
Charlie looked up at me.
“You stopped listening.”
Guilt touched me immediately. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
She studied my face with an expression far too perceptive for a three-year-old. “You’re thinking about the bad picture.”
The words made my breath catch.
No one had explained the trail-camera image to her, yet children noticed the shape of fear even when adults tried to hide its name.
“A little,” I admitted.
Charlie set the paper aside and climbed fully into my lap. Mr. Pickles landed between us with one bent ear pressed against my sweater.
“Daddy said pictures can’t hurt you.”
I looked toward the hallway instinctively, though Remedy had gone back to Harbor House nearly an hour earlier to check on the search teams and residents who remained there.
“He said that?”
“Mhm.” She rested one small hand over my heart. “He said sometimes they make your inside hurt, but then you talk and it gets smaller.”
The simple explanation sounded exactly like him, softened enough for a child without losing the truth.
“I think your daddy is right.”
“He usually is.”
I smiled faintly. “Usually?”
“Not about pancakes.”
“Of course not.”
Charlie nodded, satisfied that we agreed on the important distinction. Then she leaned closer until her forehead rested beneath my chin.
“You can stay with me.”
The offer tightened my throat.
“Thank you.”
“And Daddy.”
The addition came so naturally that she did not seem to realize how deeply it reached.
“And your daddy,” I whispered.
Charlie hugged Mr. Pickles against both of us, apparently deciding the matter had been settled. Within minutes, her attention returned to the broccoli soldiers, but the warmth of her invitation remained wrapped around my heart.
I had spent years believing safety was temporary, something borrowed until the wrong person noticed and demanded it back.
Charlie did not understand that fear. In her world, belonging could be offered as simply as sharing a blanket or making room beside someone during a movie.
She loved without drawing boundaries around the feeling, and every time she included me beside Remedy, I felt hope expand into a shape that frightened me almost as much as the Order once had.
Hope created something to lose.
Yet as I held Charlie and listened to her explain why royal bears required emergency syrup, I was beginning to understand that refusing hope had never protected me from grief. It had only made every safe moment feel like something I was not allowed to keep.
Daisy lowered herself onto the couch behind us, careful not to disturb Charlie.
“How’re you doing?”
“I’m alright.”
She gave me the look she reserved for answers that were technically true but incomplete.
“I’m tired,” I amended. “And frightened. And relieved that I remembered enough to help.”
“That sounds more honest.”
“I’m learning.”
“So is everybody.”
Her gaze moved toward Charlie, whose crayon now covered more of her fingers than the paper. “She’s been asking when Remedy’s coming back.”
“So have I,” I admitted before I could stop myself.
Daisy’s smile warmed.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did.”
Heat rose into my face. “He’s been gone an hour.”
“An hour and fourteen minutes.”
I looked up. “You counted?”
“No. You did.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again because she was right. I had checked the clock enough times to know exactly when Remedy left, though I had pretended each glance was about dinner, security rotation, or whether movie day had stretched too long.
Daisy leaned forward and lowered her voice. “He’ll come back.”
“I know.”
“This is different.”
I understood what she meant. Earlier, the sentence would have been reassurance offered against my fear.
Now it sounded like a fact built from Remedy’s repeated choices.
He returned after emergency calls. He kept promises.
He stayed when memories became difficult and left only when responsibility demanded it.
Trust had begun changing the meaning of absence.
“I’m trying not to need proof every time someone walks away,” I said.
“You don’t have to stop needing it all at once.”
“What if I always do?”
“Then the right people will keep showing you.”
The gentleness in her answer made my eyes sting.
Before I could respond, Steel entered from the side hallway carrying two radios and a paper bag from the diner. Mud streaked the legs of his jeans, and his expression carried the controlled alertness I had begun recognizing in every brother returning from the search.
Daisy stood immediately. “Anything?”
“Nothing near the north line. Mace found another partial print near the creek, but it could be old.”
“Could it belong to the second man?”
“Could belong to a hunter from last month.”
Steel handed one radio to Bishop, who had followed him into the room, then glanced toward me. “Remedy’s on his way back.”
The relief inside me arrived so quickly that I hated how visible it must have been.
Steel noticed.
To his credit, he did not tease.
“Everyone’s safe,” he added. “Carson’s deputies cleared the residents who stayed at Harbor House. Toxic wants the kids here through tonight, but nobody found signs that anyone approached the buildings.”
Charlie looked up at the mention of her father. “Daddy’s coming?”
“He is.”
“With snacks?”
Steel lifted the diner bag. “I brought snacks.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Daddy brings good ones.”
“That’s hurtful.”
“You bring spicy chips.”
“They’re excellent.”
“They make my tongue mad.”
Steel looked toward Daisy. “I’m being bullied.”
“You’ll survive.”
He moved toward the kitchen, muttering about ungrateful children while Charlie giggled against me.
A few minutes later, headlights swept across the front windows.
My body recognized Remedy’s truck before my mind did.
Charlie launched herself from my lap before the engine fully stopped outside, racing toward the foyer with Mr. Pickles bouncing beneath one arm.
I followed more slowly, trying to keep the relief from becoming another thing everyone could see, though Daisy’s knowing smile at my back made the effort pointless.
The front door opened after Bishop checked the camera feed.
Remedy stepped inside carrying rain-cooled air, exhaustion, and enough tension across his shoulders to tell me the search had not ended cleanly.
Mud marked his boots and the hem of his jeans, while his dark hair had dried in uneven waves from the earlier rain.
He scanned the hallway immediately, first finding Charlie, then me.
The moment his eyes settled on us, something in his expression eased.
“Daddy!”
Charlie ran into him hard enough that he had to shift his weight before lifting her into his arms.
“There’s my Bug.”
“You were gone forever.”
“It was a little while.”
“It was forever.”
“I stand corrected.”
She wrapped both arms around his neck, then leaned back to inspect him. “You look tired.”
“I am.”
“You need food.”
“Apparently.”
“And a hug.”
He smiled. “I’m getting one.”
Charlie rested her cheek against his shoulder, satisfied.
Remedy’s gaze returned to mine over her curls.
“You alright?”
The question remained the first thing he asked, even when exhaustion shadowed his face.
“I am.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, asking for the fuller truth without words.
“Tired,” I added. “Still afraid. Better now that you’re back.”
The admission softened him more deeply than reassurance would have.
“I’m back.”
I nodded, allowing myself to believe the statement without searching for how long it might remain true.
Bishop approached from the kitchen. “Report?”