Chapter 26
Asher
The sound of boots on the porch is what gives them away.
I'm sitting at the kitchen table with the folder of evidence Kassi brought me spread open, my mind still half on the sound of her voice saying they're drilling now, when the door swings wide, and Finn comes in, a storm that's already built too much momentum to stop.
He doesn't knock. He never does. But the look on his face tells me this isn't a normal visit. His jaw is locked, his eyes sharp with something I haven't seen since we were kids, when I broke his nose in a fight neither of us even remembers starting.
Zach is right behind him, quieter but just as tense.
Finn tosses something onto the table. It's Kassi's scarf. I recognize it instantly—the pale blue one she worse the other day.
It lands between us like a fuse.
"You want to explain this?" Finn asks.
I look from him to the scarf and back again and know there is no point in denying it. "It's Kassi's."
"No kidding," he snaps. "We found it in your truck when Zach and I went to get the feed. You planning to tell us you've been sneaking her out here, or were we supposed to just keep pretending not to notice how weird you've been lately?"
Zach's voice is low but cutting. "You've been lying to us, Ash."
I push the folder closed, slowly, with deliberation. "I haven't been lying."
Finn's laugh is sharp. "You sure about that? Because last I checked, the woman working for the developers—the ones trying to gut this land from under us—isn't exactly someone you 'forget' to mention you're sleeping with."
The words hit harder than I expected.
"I'm not sleeping with the enemy," I say, standing.
"Then what is she?" he throws back. "Because if she's not the enemy, she's the messenger. And if she's the messenger, she's been walking through our front door carrying their secrets while you've been too busy looking at her to see it."
"Enough," I bite out.
"No," he fires back. "Not enough. You let her in. Around Mom. You thought about that? What happens if she's feeding them information?"
Zach steps forward then, calmer but no less sharp. "You're not thinking straight, Ash. You love this land more than anything, and she works for the people who want to destroy it. You see how that looks from where we're standing?"
I do. God help me, I do. But that doesn't make it true.
"She's not one of them," I say. "She came to me with proof, risking everything to warn me."
Finn's expression twists. "You believe that? Just like that?"
"She brought me their maps," I say, slamming my palm on the folder. "Coordinates. Drilling data. Proof that they're already testing. She didn't have to do that. She did it because she's not like them."
Zach's gaze flicks to the folder, then to me. "Then why didn't you tell us?"
That lands exactly where it's meant to. I feel it sink deep.
"I needed to keep her safe," I say. "The fewer people who knew, the better. You think those developers won't start sniffing around once they realize their files went missing? You think I'd put that on you? On Mom?"
"You didn't trust us," Finn says quietly, and somehow that's worse than the shouting.
"I was protecting you," I say.
"No," he says. "You were protecting her."
The words hang there, heavy and ugly.
"You don't get it," I say, trying to keep my voice even. "You didn't see her face when she told me what she heard. She was scared out of her mind, but she did it anyway. You don't throw someone like that away because it's inconvenient."
Finn's hands curl into fists. "You think we're asking you to throw her away? We're asking you to be smart. To not let your—whatever this is—make you blind. Because one mistake could cost us everything."
"She's not a mistake," I say, and the room goes still.
For a second, nobody moves. Finn shakes his head slowly. "Then you've already chosen."
Zach exhales, his shoulders sagging like he's aged ten years in a minute. "You should have trusted us," he says. "We could've helped you protect her. Protect the land. Instead, you made it a secret. And now, even if you're right, we can't tell where the line is anymore."
"I'm still your brother," I say.
Finn studies me, scraping right past the surface, and doesn't like what he finds. "You're the one who drew the line."
The door closes loudly behind us, and when I turn, Kassi stands there. She must have pulled up while we were fighting. Her eyes are wide as she takes in the three of us. She knows. But she doesn't need to hear the words to know what's happened.
Her gaze flicks to the scarf on the table, then to me.
"I shouldn't have come," she says sadly.
Finn's jaw tightens. "Maybe not."
"Finn," I warn, but he's already turning away, muttering something under his breath that sounds like you let the enemy into our home.
Zach follows him out, giving me one last look that cuts cleaner than any blade. "Fix it, Ash," he says. "Before you lose more than land."
The door slams behind them, and the silence that follows is a wound still bleeding.
Kassi doesn't move. She's standing just inside the doorway, hands knotted in front of her.
"I heard," she says finally, her voice barely a whisper. "I didn't mean to, but the door was open when I got here."
I rub a hand across my face. "You weren't supposed to."
She steps closer, tentative. "He's right, isn't he? I'm the reason they're angry."
"No," I say too quickly. "They're angry because they think I don't trust them."
"And do you?"
That question lands like a blow I can't block. I look at her and see everything I've been holding together start to crack.
"I trust you and them," I say. "That's the only thing I'm sure of."
Her eyes shine with tears she doesn't let fall. "But they don't trust me. And now you've lost them because of me."
"I didn't lose them," I say. "They'll come around."
She shakes her head. "You don't believe that."
I want to lie. I can't. "Not tonight."
She steps closer, close enough that I can smell the faint trace of her shampoo, the warmth of her skin. "You shouldn't have to choose between them and me."
"I already did," I say, and it comes out rough.
Her breath catches. "Asher—"
Before I can stop myself, I reach for her. My hands find her waist and pull her in as if she belongs there, because God help me, she does. She fits against me as though she’s been here forever, and every bit of noise and the hurt and the anger outside this room fades to nothing.
Her hands come up to my chest, and for one long heartbeat, we stand there breathing the same air.
Then she looks up at me, her voice breaking. "We can't do this. Not like this."
"Yes, we can," I say, but even as I say it, I know she's right.
She shakes her head. "You think you're protecting me, but all you're doing is losing everything else that matters to you. I won't let you."
"You don't get to decide that."
Her eyes fill again, but her voice is steady. "You're the best man I've ever known. You fight for what's right, even when it costs you. But I can't be the reason you lose your family."
"You're not—"
"I am," she says, cutting me off. "You love them. They're your home. And you can't fix this while I'm standing here reminding them why they're angry."
I shake my head, desperate. "Kassi, please. Don't do this."
She reaches up and touches my face, her fingers trembling. "You told me once I was brave for telling the truth. This is me doing the same."
"Kassi—"
Her hand drops, and her voice is barely above a whisper. "I love you, Asher. But I can't stay."
She loves me? She tells me she loves me as she is walking away. The words tear something open in me I didn't know could still bleed.
She turns toward the door. I move to stop her, but she shakes her head. "If I stay, they'll never forgive you. If I go, maybe they will."
I don't have words left.
She walks out into the fading light, her figure small against the vastness of the land she helped me save. The screen door creaks shut behind her, and the sound is too soft for the way it feels—something breaking clean through.
I stand there, staring after her until her car disappears down the lane, the dust hanging in the air long after she's gone.
The silence that follows is heavy and absolute.
I sink into the chair at the table, the folder of evidence still lying there. The edge of her scarf brushes against my hand. I pick it up and press it to my face, the faint scent of her still clinging to the fabric.
I think about her words. About how she looked at me when she said I love you.
It should have felt like victory. Instead, it feels like defeat.
Outside, the wind moves through the grass, whispering.
I look toward the window where the horizon bleeds orange and gold, and for the first time in a long time, I don't see my land. I see her—driving away, fighting tears, doing the one thing I can't bring myself to do.
Letting go.
And maybe that's the difference between us. She's brave enough to walk away for my sake.
I'm still sitting here, waiting for her shadow to come back up the drive.
But it doesn't.