Chapter 12
Chapter
Twelve
JOSEPHINE
Idon’t look at him when I leave. That’s the first lie.
I feel him watching from the fence line, hat low, shoulders squared in that way he stands when he’s pretending not to guard something.
Or someone.
But I don’t look. Distance is data. Data is safer than desire.
The car rattles as I pull onto Main, gravel popping against the undercarriage. My hands feel steadier on the steering wheel than they did this morning, which should count for something.
Emotion clouds pattern recognition. That’s what Dr. Halpern always said. And right now, I need pattern recognition.
Not pulse synchronization. Not humming air.
Not a man who looks half his age, if that.
The Redfern Feed sign creaks as I pass. Mags stands out front, moving sale placards, her silvery red braid bright against the faded clapboard siding. She straightens one sign, then looks up.
Right at me.
Not startled. Not curious. Like she knew the exact second I would drive by.
She lifts a hand and waves. Polite. Neighborly. Normal.
Barely pushing sixty, not one hundred and thirty.
I hesitate before lifting two fingers from the wheel in return. Her smile lingers half a beat too long. I look away first.
I have to get away from all of this.
I need climate control and archival boxes and fluorescent lighting that hums for ordinary electrical reasons.
The museum door shuts behind me with a soft, decisive click. Inside smells like lemon polish and paper. Contained time. Safe time.
Debbie isn’t at the front desk today. Two men in dark jackets are.
The sight of them doesn’t register immediately.
It’s the posture that does. Still. Coordinated. Purposeful.
“Can I help you?” one of them asks.
His tone is neutral. Official.
I blink. “I’m here to access Box Fourteen. I was here yesterday.”
They exchange a glance. Not confused. Confirming.
“Josephine Calloway?” the other one asks.
The air shifts.
“Yes.”
“We’ll need you to step into the archival room.”
Something cold slides into my stomach. “This is a public institution,” I say carefully. “Do you have a warrant?”
He doesn’t answer directly. “This is a federal review under national security authorization.”
The words don’t make sense together.
“National security?” I echo.
“You uploaded geospatial alignment data through a third-party astronomy application.”
My mouth goes dry. The app.
“The upload triggered anomaly detection protocols,” he continues. “We’re here to collect all associated materials.”
Anomaly.
That word again. It doesn’t belong in a museum.
“You’re confiscating academic research?” I ask.
“We’re preserving sensitive information.”
“From whom?”
He doesn’t smile. “From dissemination.”
They move past me into the back room. Boxes open. Files lifted. Photographs removed from sleeves.
My hands feel disconnected from the rest of me. “That’s private research,” I protest, following them. “Those are overlays and pattern analyses.”
“And GPS-tagged coordinates,” the first man replies.
My throat tightens. “How do you even know—”
“Your app permissions grant federal anomaly review access.”
Of course, they do. Of course, I clicked “Accept.”
Debbie appears in the doorway, pale and wringing her hands. “They said it was urgent,” she whispers.
Urgent. I reach for my phone. No signal. Or maybe my hand is shaking too badly to see clearly.
“And your grandparents’ property?” the second agent asks casually. “That’s where you’ve been conducting field documentation?”
My pulse spikes. “Yes,” I answer before I can stop myself.
He nods once. “A team’s already en route.”
The floor drops.
“You can’t—”
“It’s already underway.”
The drive back to the ranch is a blur of dust and adrenaline. My hands shake now. Not from fear. From disbelief.
This is procedural. There’s paperwork. Oversight.
You don’t just raid private property because of rock carvings.
Unless…
Unless the carvings aren’t what triggered it. Unless the alignment did.
And the hum? It must be measurable.
No, that’s absurd.
I crest the final hill and see the black SUVs before I reach the driveway.
Two. Government plates.
The barn door stands open. Grandma is on the porch, holding back tears.
Ash stands beside her. Carrying a box. The sight hits like a slap.
He’s helping them. Helping them take things.
Dammit!
My car door slams harder than I intend. Grandma rushes down the stairs. “Jo, they said it’s precautionary—”
“Where’s Grandpa?” I ask, eyes locked on Ash, my gaze fierce.
“In the house,” she says. “They’re going through your bedroom.”
Ash sets the box carefully on the hood of one SUV.
He looks at me. Not defensive. Not smug. Worried.
Which infuriates me more. “You called this in?” I demand.
His brow snaps down. “What?”
“The council meeting. The timing. You knew I was mapping alignments.”
His jaw tightens. “I didn’t call anyone.”
“Then how did they know?” I fire back.
“Know what?”
“That the range reacts,” I hiss under my breath.
The nearest agent steps forward. “Ms. Calloway, we’re securing all digital and physical materials related to your uploads.”
“My uploads?” I repeat.
“The astronomical alignment data.”
Ash’s eyes flick to mine. Sharp.
“They flagged it as anomalous,” the agent continues.
“Anomalous how?” I whisper.
“Classified.”
The word lands like a verdict.
Ash moves closer. Too close.
I step back automatically. Distance. I need distance.
“He had nothing to do with this,” the agent says impatiently. “We’re here because your data triggered external notification.”
External?
Ash goes still.
External.
My anger fractures. External means not local.
Not council. Not Ash.
Then who?
The cowboy grabs my upper arm, and heat flares. He pulls me to the side, whispering against my ear, “Calm down. Let this go.”
I try to pull away, anger flaring. “Then, you’ll have what you want? Me, no longer doing research—”
His voice is a dark warning. “Control yourself.” The two words hit me like a vibration, like something I can’t choose.
The agents load the last box into the SUV.
My knees wobble.
I didn’t mean to expose him or Mags. Hell, I don’t know exactly what I exposed yet. But I do know it’s something I can’t measure or archive away.
The world tilts. My vision narrows. I’m suddenly so tired. So tired of explanations.
The ground rushes up too fast.
“Not again.” Strong arms catch me before it does.
The hum explodes through my body. Not violent. Stabilizing.
I press into him instinctively.
Heat floods my veins. The dizziness fades almost instantly.
My breathing evens. His heart pounds against my cheek.
Three beats. Four. Aligned.
“Control,” he murmurs.
I clutch his shirt. “They could have everything now,” I confess. “Your photo. My measurements. The overlay of Mags’ face with the nineteen ten photograph. The earlobe ratios. The bone spread. The boundary response times. The pulse synchronization observations.”
I feel him harden.
“Everything.”
“If you don’t let this go,” he says between clenched teeth, they’ll seize the land, too.
I gasp, hand going to my chest.
His face is grim, but I know he’s right.
The SUVs pull away in a cloud of dust. Leaving silence behind. Not empty. Watched.
Ash doesn’t let go. And for the first time since this started, I don’t pull away.
Then he repeats, voice eerily steady. “They don’t have it all.”
Grandma sniffles from the porch, eyes washing over us. Curiosity first. Then, something more guarded.
“I’m so sorry,” I say to her, to Ash.
The cowboy’s face is all severe lines, eyes narrow. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat, but he says nothing.
Maybe the silence is worse.
I should go upstairs. Survey the damage. But I can’t bring myself to confront what happened.
The porch boards squeak as Grandpa comes outside, wrapping an arm around Grandma. “We better start cleaning up.” He eyes me and Ash, his jaw ticking. Like he understands something I still don’t.
“Everyone knows what’s going on but me,” I whisper against Ash’s chest, though I know I should pull away.
I expect to find anger in his eyes. Instead, they’re warm, though controlled. Like there’s much more he wants to say.
Grandma opens her mouth. But Grandpa cuts her off. “Trust you’ll take good care of my granddaughter while she’s… processing.”
The word sounds too new for Grandpa.
“You want to go inside?” Ash asks softly. “I can help you clean up?”
I shake my head. “I need to walk. To clear my mind.”
The sliding door closes, my grandparents no longer in view.
“Then I’m coming with you.”
Final.
No room for argument.
“Of course, because you don’t trust me. Because you’re lying about everything.”
His hand comes up, brushing the top of my shoulder with great restraint. Like I’m breakable.
“No, because whatever this is won’t let us do this alone.”