Later, when the city fell quiet and the world seemed to shrink to the sound of their breathing and the touch of skin on skin, they celebrated without words — letting every kiss, every whisper, every heartbeat say what neither had dared to before.
EPILOGUE
The sun had barely crested the horizon, casting Phoenix Ridge in a soft amber glow as Victoria Langley ran along the familiar stretch of Jefferson Avenue. The ocean breeze was gentler now, less biting than it used to be, and the rhythmic crash of waves against the cliffs was a steady companion to the beat of her shoes on the pavement.
Her breath came easy, her stride smooth—years of discipline had made this second nature. Once, running had been the way she outran everything: grief, tension, impossible decisions, the weight of command. Now, it felt different. Less like escape. More like a loop that always brought her back to the same solid place. Home.
The city was slowly waking around her—a dog barked in the distance, a jogger lifted two fingers in a silent greeting as they passed, and the scent of fresh bread drifted from Lavender’s, still the beating heart of the community. The bakery’s windows glowed softly, just like they had on that first morning when a kidnapping call had ripped through her run and changed everything. That memory passed through her like a shadow, but it didn’t catch this time. The fear, the pressure, the tightnessin her chest—that was all behind her now, filed away with the Harper case and the long nights that had followed.
She turned onto Lincoln, slowing a fraction as the townhouse she shared with Isabel came into view just beyond the row of flowering jacarandas. Their lavender blossoms trembled in the breeze, dusting the sidewalk with petals. The porch light was still on, warm and soft against the early morning haze—a quiet signal that Isabel had likely gotten up early to make coffee, even if she’d gone straight back to bed afterwards.
Victoria smiled at the thought, her chest tightening in a way she no longer tried to control.
As she slowed to a walk and climbed the steps, she reached for the key tucked into the waistband of her leggings—but paused. Her gaze dropped to her left hand, where the morning light caught the glint of her wedding ring. Platinum, simple, worn smooth from habit. It was elegant without being showy, solid without being heavy. Isabel had teased her that it looked exactly like her—understated, annoyingly perfect, impossible to ignore.
Victoria twisted the band gently with her thumb, a quiet ritual she’d picked up since the ceremony last spring. She’d done it the morning after they signed the papers at city hall, the morning they’d woken up late and Isabel had declared they were skipping emails until noon. She still caught herself checking the ring as if to confirm it was real.
It still surprised her sometimes—how natural it felt. How right.
Inside, the scent of coffee and something sweet—definitely Isabel’s cinnamon muffins, heavy on the sugar “because you’re less grouchy when your blood glucose is happy”—welcomed her home. The warmth hit her first, a cocoon of familiar smells and quiet sounds. The faint hiss of the coffee machine, the distanttrickle of the shower upstairs, the creak of the old floorboard near the entry table she still pretended not to notice.
She stepped through the door, sweat cooling on her skin, heart steady, and for the first time in years, she didn’t feel as if she was running from anything. No looming explosion, no missing girl, no sense that everything might come apart if she took her eyes off it.
She was just running home.
The townhouse smelled like cinnamon and coffee. It smelled like Isabel.
Victoria toed off her running shoes and lined them neatly by the door out of habit. Once, that had been about control—about keeping some corner of the world orderly when everything else threatened chaos. Now, it was simply part of who she was, another piece of her that Isabel had accepted without trying to rearrange.
She padded barefoot across the hardwood floor, her post-run muscles pleasantly sore, her damp hair pulled into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. The kitchen was warm with morning light, spilling through the wide windows and catching on the framed photos lining the hallway. She hadn’t meant to slow down, but her feet did it anyway, her gaze drawn to the collection that had grown quietly over the years.
Rome—Isabel laughing with her head thrown back, sunglasses crooked on her nose, one hand in Victoria’s hair as the Trevi Fountain blurred in the background.
Oregon—towering pines and mist, Isabel wrapped in an oversized hoodie, both of them half-soaked from a hike that had “definitely not been on the tourist trail.”
Nova Scotia—a windswept beach, Victoria’s hair whipped loose and wild by the stormy sea, Isabel pressed against her side, both of them grinning at the camera like they hadn’t a single worry in the world.
The walls had filled up over the years, each picture a quiet rebellion against the sterile minimalism she used to live by—the bare walls, the single photograph of her parents that had once been the only thing she allowed herself. Now their lives were there in color and motion and proof. She didn’t just go to work and go home anymore. There was everything in between.
She paused at the counter, reaching for her mug, and glanced down at her left hand again. The platinum band gleamed faintly in the sunlight. She twisted it gently, the way she always did after a run, the gesture soothing, anchoring. It still felt new, even after a year. New, but not uncertain.
Behind her, a loud thump echoed from the living room, followed almost immediately by a high-pitched yowl.
“Jesus,” Victoria muttered, turning just in time to see a blur of orange fur launch itself off the back of the couch and skitter across the floor like a tiny, unhinged comet.
The cat—Moxie, a wedding gift from Isabel that had absolutely not been on any registry—was a menace. Loud, demanding, and utterly fearless. She’d knocked over two plants, shredded a throw pillow Victoria had actually liked, and had once tried to climb the curtains while Victoria was on a Zoom call with the mayor. The mayor had pretended not to notice. Isabel had laughed about it for a week.
Victoria had never had a pet before. She’d resisted at first, citing allergies and order and the sanctity of her clean floors. She’d given Isabel a full, detailed lecture on dander and vet appointments and fur on uniforms. But Isabel had shown up with the kitten in a basket wrapped in a bow, eyes too big for her tiny face, purring loud enough to shake the wicker, and Victoria had melted faster than she cared to admit.
Now, Moxie was part of the morning chaos. She leapt onto the kitchen island without shame, meowed directly into Victoria’s face as if personally offended by the lack of treats, andbegan pawing at the empty mug with both paws, claws barely sheathed.
“You already ate,” Victoria said, nudging her off with practiced ease. “You’re not getting coffee. Last thing this house needs is you caffeinated.”
Moxie bounced to the floor, tail flicking as if she disagreed entirely.
From the hallway, Isabel’s voice floated in, warm and amused. “She doesn’t care. She wants your coffee and your soul.”
Isabel appeared a moment later, wrapped in a robe, her hair tousled from sleep, curling at the ends where it brushed her shoulders. She leaned against the doorframe, watching Victoria with that familiar, lazy smile—the one that made something low in Victoria’s chest loosen every single time.
