Charlotte woketo the smell of coffee. Strong. Fresh. The kind Alex made—none of that watered-down machine brew. Then came the unmistakable sound of bacon sizzling, the rhythmic clatter of a pan shifting on the stove, footsteps across the kitchen floor. For a moment, she just lay there, eyes still closed, letting herself absorb it. Normalcy. A man downstairs. Coffee. Breakfast. A heartbeat in the house besides her own.
She sat up slowly, her body stiff from too little sleep and too many ghosts. The bedroom was still in recovery mode, boxes stacked against one wall, the photo of Chuck and her propped back on the nightstand. The scent of the coffee pulled her forward. She glanced out the window. Early light. Just past seven.
Of course he was already up. Showered, judging by the faint smell of his aftershave. She knew Alex well enough to know he kept a go bag in his car—pressed shirts, clean slacks, toiletries, backup everything. He was always prepared. It made him a great investigator. And a hard man to catch off guard.
Charlotte showered fast, dressed faster. She didn’t like the feeling of someone else waiting on her, even if it was just breakfast. When she came downstairs, Alex was plating eggs and toast, moving like he belonged there—not entitled, not intrusive. Just present.
“You didn’t have to do this.” She reached for the coffee mug already waiting at her spot on the counter.
“Yesterday was a long day,” he said over his shoulder. “Figured this was a good place to start.” He set the plate in front of her. Scrambled eggs, bacon, sourdough toast with a smear of butter. Her favorite, though she never remembered telling him that.
He poured himself a cup of coffee, leaned against the counter, and sipped.
She took one bite. The food was perfect. Of course it was. “I appreciate this.”
He nodded. Then his tone shifted, just a touch firmer. “But if I’m going to keep helping you, we need to be clear.”
Charlotte froze mid-bite. “I’m listening.”
He set his cup down and met her eyes. “I’m not here to play backup. I’m not here to get left behind while you chase ghosts in the dark. You want me on this, you loop me in. Every step.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I’ve done fine without?—”
“No, you haven’t,” he cut in, calm but sharp. “You’ve survived. You’ve isolated. You’ve buried everything until it boiled over. And now someone’s digging through your life and leaving bodies in your backyard.”
She didn’t answer.
“I have the badge, Charlotte. I have the clearance, the clout, and the people. You want to chase Ward’s ghost? You want to protect your girls? Then don’t freeze me out.”
She opened her mouth to argue.
He raised a hand. “Who got you in to see Ward?”
She snapped her jaw shut.
“Exactly,” he said. “We do this together. Or not at all.”
She studied him for a long moment. Not out of defiance. But because part of her hated how much she needed him. Trusted him.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “Together.”
He nodded once, grabbed another slice of toast, and tossed it on her plate. “Good. Eat up. Because we’ve got work to do.”
She smiled into her coffee. Just a little. For the first time in a while, she didn’t feel isolated. And that was terrifying. But also—hopeful.
They finished breakfast quickly, then Charlotte rinsed her plate and poured a second cup of coffee to go. Alex stepped out onto the back porch to make a call, and she watched him through the screen door, phone pressed to his ear, posture tense.
She sipped her coffee and braced herself. When he came back in, his expression hadn’t changed, but she could read the fatigue in his eyes.
Charlotte exhaled, jaw tight. “We’re still flying blind?”
Alex grabbed his keys from the counter. “Let’s check in with the task force. The tech center at the college is where they're set up. Ethan and Brad are already pulling resources. My team is there too. You can share what you learned at the prison.”
They got in her SUV. She insisted on driving, and, within minutes, they were heading down the old highway into town. The early light cut through the trees in gold streaks, but neither of them said much. Just the road, the hum of tires, and the unspoken urgency tightening around them.
As they approached the college, Alex finally spoke. “There’s something you need to know,” he said. “Day before yesterday, just before Byron showed up on your porch, highway patrol picked up a woman walking along Route 83. Catatonic. Didn’t respond to her name.”
Charlotte frowned. “Name?”
