Chapter 31
Palmer
City hall was crowded and stuffy the afternoon of the press conference, two days after I returned to Ember Hollow.
The old brick building on Center Street smelled of wool coats and cold air and too many bodies pressed into a space that wasn’t meant for this many people.
The conference room had been cleared out and rearranged.
Folding chairs filled the center of the room in tight rows.
Cameras lined the back wall—big ones on tripods with station logos taped to the sides, smaller handheld ones, and even a few phones lifted discreetly above heads.
Microphones were clustered at the podium at the front, cords snaking across the floor like vines.
Reid said they usually held press conferences in this room.
The police department occupied one wing of city hall, so it made sense.
It was controlled. Secure. Officers were stationed at both doors, checking credentials and keeping the flow of people steady.
No one was just wandering in off the street.
I sat between Fox and Graham in the third row from the front. August and Reid stood near the side of the podium, speaking quietly with a man in a dark suit I assumed was a detective.
Roman was a few feet away from them, shoulders squared, hands clasped in front of him. He seemed calm and steady. When his attention caught on me, though, my heart hammered. Two other men flanked him, but I only recognized Nolan, Hailey’s uncle from her mother’s side.
Roman gave me a quick twitch of his lips, as if he were trying to reassure me.
Fox’s knee bounced beside mine. He seemed relaxed—hands in his coat pockets, expression unreadable—but there was a tightness around his eyes. Graham leaned forward, forearms resting on his thighs, scanning the room like he was analyzing every face.
There were more people here than I expected.
Local news stations had sent reporters I vaguely recognized, and there were regional reporters I didn’t.
One woman had a square microphone clipped to her collar; a younger guy, with a camera slung over his shoulder, appeared barely out of college.
They’d been lingering in Ember Hollow since Amos escaped, feeding off the story like it was oxygen.
The mysterious fires had only made it worse.
The room buzzed with restless curiosity and anxiousness.
An older man I didn’t recognize finally stepped up to the microphones, and the hum quieted immediately.
“Thank you all for coming,” he began, his voice even but firm. He introduced himself as the sheriff. “We know there’s been growing concern in the community following the recent structure fires and, of course, the ongoing search for Amos Anderson.”
Hearing Amos’s name out loud made an unsettled murmur wash over the crowd.
The sheriff continued, “At this time, we will address the recent structure fires within the Ember Hollow city limits. We will not be discussing any ongoing federal investigations unrelated to those incidents.” An air of discontent rippled among the media members as the sheriff launched into a factual and controlled outline of the investigation so far.
When the sheriff finished, he stepped back and Roman took the podium. The room shifted, a subtle tightening as cameras adjusted. Even the podcasters straightened in their seats.
The town seal hung on the wall behind him, framed in dark wood. The shadow of the clock tower was visible through the tall windows to the right, cutting across the snow-dusted street below.
“As fire chief,” Roman said evenly, “I can confirm these fires were deliberately set. We are working closely with the police department and state partners to determine responsibility.”
The room was silent as he spoke, as if holding on to each and every word.
“We have a strong working theory,” he continued.
“And we are confident the individual responsible will be identified and apprehended. This individual isn’t as smart as they think they are.
On behalf of the Ember Hollow Fire Department, I ask that if anyone has any information pertaining to the fires, or if you’ve seen anything suspicious on the dates in question, please contact this helpline. ”
His eyes swept the room as he spoke, steady and unflinching as he read out a number for people to call. Then, he opened the room up for questions.
Immediately, I knew it was a mistake.
The woman with the mic clipped to her shirt raised her hand and started to speak before being asked. “Chief Ramsey, is this connected to the Shadow Stalker?”
Another voice layered over hers. “Do you believe the escaped suspect is targeting Ember Hollow again?”
Roman didn’t flinch.
“This press conference is about the fires,” he said calmly. “We are investigating evidence related to those incidents. Any other matters remain under federal jurisdiction and the county sheriff’s department.”
The reporters didn’t seem to like that.
“But you’re not denying a connection?” someone pressed.
“I won’t be commenting on that at this time,” Roman replied.
The room stirred. He didn’t raise his voice or seem rattled, but there was steel in it now.
“What I will say is this—these fires were meant to intimidate. They were meant to create fear. To the people of Ember Hollow, this is your town. Your home. As someone sworn to protect this community, I will not allow Amos Anderson, or anyone else, to take it from you.”
Pride stirred in me at his words. Roman wasn’t only the fire chief…he was a man, a citizen of this town, who refused to let it burn down around him.
“Chief Ramsey,” the woman with the microphone clipped to her called out, “do you believe Anderson is targeting your family specifically?”
The room went silent. It wasn’t a secret that Hearthstone Security had been set ablaze. The Ramseys had been at the front of this for a while now.
Roman didn’t hesitate.
“This investigation is about the safety of the entire community,” he said. “We will follow the evidence wherever it leads.”
It was a non-answer, but also a warning.
The sheriff stepped forward, signaling the end of the formal statement. The room’s volume rose, questions flying from every direction.
I exhaled slowly, not realizing I’d been holding my breath.
Somewhere in Ember Hollow, the Shadow Stalker was listening.
The afternoon passed in a blur.
First, it was waiting for the media to clear out of city hall.
They weren’t happy about not getting the answers they wanted.
A few of them lingered in the hallway outside the conference room, circling like they thought persistence alone might crack someone open and give them the lead they wanted.
Two reporters even approached the Ramsey brothers directly, trying to pry loose any detail that hadn’t been said at the podium.
But the brothers were surprisingly good at evading them.
After that, it was meetings.
I sat through a debrief about how the press conference had gone. Then another discussion about the upcoming charity event for the coffee shop and what security would be like. Police officers filtered in and out. Someone from the state fire marshal’s office joined via speakerphone.
Maps were spread across folding tables. Floor plans. Security layouts. Timelines.
At some point, I had no idea what time it was.
I only knew I was exhausted.
The metal folding chair made my muscles stiff after so many hours. My hands ached beneath the bandages. My head was thick and foggy. I caught myself blinking slower and slower, fighting the pull of sleep right there at the edge of the table.
That was when Roman’s hand wrapped gently around my wrist.
I startled and he leaned down, close enough that only I heard him. “I think it’s time I get you home.”
Relief hit me so fast, it almost made me dizzy.
They hadn’t wanted to leave me at the bed-and-breakfast alone earlier, which was why I’d tagged along to all of this in the first place. Roman offering me a way out now felt like a lifeline.
“But shouldn’t you stay?” I whispered back.
He shook his head. “August can take over from here. I should be good to go.”
His brothers were deep in discussion, heads bent over blueprints and notes.
“Just you and me?” I asked.
A faint, tired smile tugged at his mouth. “Yeah. Just you and me for now.”
I nodded.
He helped me up, and we slipped out of city hall while the meeting continued behind us.
Outside, the air had turned sharper. I glanced up at the clock tower as we stepped onto Center Street, surprised to see it was already almost five o’clock. Dusk was settling in, the winter sky fading into that deep blue that always came too fast.
I was starving.
When we climbed into Roman’s truck, he blasted the heat immediately.
“Want me to grab something to eat on the way home?” he asked as he pulled away from the curb.
I shook my head. “No. I can cook.”
Eating out was one of my least favorite things.
After a day like this one, I’d rather spend some extra time cooking a good meal that would taste and feel a thousand times better than takeout.
I already had something in mind—dinner for everyone.
I had some rotisserie chicken in the fridge that would be divine in some chicken and gnocchi soup.
I even had some fresh sourdough to go with it.
Roman’s gaze flicked down to my bandaged hands, one brow arching.
I shoved them into the pockets of my coat. It was a proper winter coat that Roman insisted on buying me. I only took it because, honestly, it was nice. It wasn’t tight or restrictive and was made of soft, olive-green boiled wool.
“I’m fine,” I said quickly.
His eyes narrowed. “You don’t need to overdo it. It’s good to flex your hands, but it still has to hurt.”
I shrugged and stared out the passenger window at the snowbanks lining the street. “It doesn’t hurt. I want to cook.”
He didn’t argue, but I heard the quiet sigh as he drove us home.
It wasn’t long before the bed-and-breakfast came into view, lights glowing against the darkening sky.
As we walked up the steps and inside, I glanced at him.
“You did a good job at the press conference.”
His lips thinned. “I guess so.”
I tilted my head. “Do you not think this is a good plan?”
He locked the door behind us and turned on the security system before answering. The soft electronic chirp filled the quiet house.
“It’s not that I don’t think the plan is good.” He helped me shrug out of my coat and hung it carefully on the wall hook before turning back to me. “I just wish you weren’t in the middle of it all.”
I frowned. “I’m not in the middle of it all. If anything, you’re in the middle of it.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, tension pulling at his shoulders. “I just want you to stay safe.”
His protectiveness made me feel warm and seen. It also made me sad.
“What are you thinking?” he asked after I stared too long without speaking.
I straightened and shook my head. “Nothing. I should really get dinner started.”
His mouth pressed into a line, like he didn’t believe me, but he didn’t push.
I turned toward the kitchen, but he caught my elbow.
He stepped closer. “Are you going to be okay down here by yourself for a while?”
My brows knit. “Where are you going?”
“I’d really like to take a shower. If that’s okay.”
I looked him over properly then.
He was still in his stiff fire chief uniform. The brass on his collar caught the soft light from the entryway lamp. He was powerful and commanding in it.
Suddenly my skin felt too tight as I thought of him taking it off…the heavy jacket sliding from his shoulders and him unbuttoning the structured fabric. I imagined the heat of the shower curling around bare skin and water running over muscle and—
My stomach flipped.
Heat rushed straight up my neck and into my cheeks.
Oh my God.
I blinked in horror.
Where had that come from?
I stepped back from him abruptly, putting space between us before he saw anything on my face.
“Yeah. Sure. Of course,” I said quickly. “I’ll go start dinner. You hop in the shower.”
He studied me, like he was trying to piece together what had just shifted.
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” he asked.
I nodded too fast, my head bobbing comically. “Yes. Of course,” I repeated, forcing my voice to calm down. “I’ll be fine.”
He studied me for another second; then he nodded. “All right. I won’t be long.”
With that, he turned and headed upstairs.
Leaving me utterly embarrassed and feeling way too warm.