Chapter Sixty-One
Ruby
The footage loads slower than it should. Or it may just feel that way because my entire body feels like it’s charged.
I stand behind Xavier’s shoulder, arms wrapped tight around myself, watching the screen flicker through angles that feel too small, too fixed, too easy to miss something in.
Front yard. Driveway. Back door. Side fence. Nothing. Nothing moves. Nothing lingers. Nothing looks wrong.
“That’s when we came in.” I point at the timestamp. My voice doesn’t sound like mine, too thin. “And that’s when the storm picked up.”
He doesn’t answer. Just leans closer, one hand braced on the table, the other moving the trackpad, scrubbing back a few minutes.
The footage jumps. Freezes. Then— Black.
My stomach drops. “What…. What is that?”
“Hold on.” His voice is steady. Too steady. He scrolls forward. Still black. Back. Black again.
“What time is it?”
“Eleven,” he says. “Right around eleven.”
My pulse kicks. “That’s after the storm picked up.”
“Shit.” His attention shifts behind me. “The microwave. I noticed this morning it was blinking but didn’t think anything about it.”
My shoulders slump. The power went off.
He keeps scanning. “All of them.” The words are barely decipherable as if he’s speaking more to himself than me.
Every camera. Every angle. Gone.
My fingers dig into my sleeves. “They knew.” The words coming faster now. “They knew the power would go out. Or they were watching and saw it happen and–”
“Ruby.”
I don’t stop. “They used that. That’s when they, when they went out there, when they…. They brought their own feed….” My voice breaks. “They were outside while we were inside. While we were….”
“Ruby.” His chair scrapes back.
I pace to the right until I hit the counter and turn again, breath coming too fast, too sharp.
“They were in the yard,” I say. “They opened the gate. They led Samson out with their own feed. They took the piglets. What if they hadn’t come back? What if–”
“Hey.” His hands are on me before I can turn again. Firm. Grounding.
He pulls me in without asking, one arm wrapping around my back, the other settling at the back of my head, pressing me in against his chest.
I go still for half a second. Then everything hits at once.
“They were here.” The words are muffled against his shirt, shaky, hitched with each breath. “They were right outside, and we didn’t even know–”
“I know.” His hand moves slowly up and down my back, steady, deliberate. Not rushed. Not panicked. Controlled.
“I didn’t hear anything.” The panic in my chest continues to swell as everything crashes around me. “I didn’t…. Samson didn’t even—”
“They used the storm.” His words are said slowly as if he’s trying to keep me from teetering over the edge. I’m not sure if he’ll be successful at this point. “Noise, wind, power flicker. It covers movement.”
That should make me feel better. It doesn’t. It makes it worse. “They planned it. They brought their own feed.”
His hand pauses. Then continues. “Yeah.”
No hesitation. No softening. The truth lands heavy in my chest.
My fingers curl into his shirt without thinking, holding on like that’s the only solid thing in the room.
“If the power didn’t flicker, who’s to say they wouldn’t have cut the line?” My shoulders shake once as he rubs one hand against my back and his thumb along my neck.
“We don’t know that.” His voice doesn’t sound as certain as his words.
“They wanted me to know.” I shiver hard. “To know that they were out there. Watching. Waiting.”
“I know.” His voice drops on that last one, closer to my ear. Not louder. Not emotional. Just… certain.
My breathing remains uneven, but it’s starting to slow, matching the rhythm of his hand against my back and the stroke of his thumb on my pulse point.
Up. Down. Up. Down. Doesn’t drop. Doesn’t pull away.
I drop my forehead to his chest, feeling his heat against my skin. “They’re not done.”
He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes flick back to the screen, black footage, empty time, nothing where something should be, then back to me. “No.”
Honest. Again. He’s always so damned honest even when I don’t want him to be.
My chest tightens, but this time it’s different. Sharper. Clearer.
“What do we do?” He doesn’t step back. Doesn’t create space. “If they’re watching….” I inhale and exhale. “If they can show up like that….”
“I’m here.” The words land before I can finish. Simple. Not explained. Not expanded. Just there.
My breath catches. He doesn’t look away. And for a moment, he feels like the only thing in the room that isn’t shifting under my feet. My fingers grip his shirt again, and I don’t let go right away.
Neither does he.