Chapter 3
Audrey's POV
When I came back, my face was against something warm.
Not the window.
I blinked. My vision hadn't caught up yet, but I already knew — from the specific temperature and give beneath my cheek — that I wasn't where I'd been. My head was resting on his leg.
I sat up so fast my back hit the front seat with a dull thud.
"I'm sorry—" My voice came out thick with sleep, already stumbling. "I didn't mean to, I don't know how I—"
"It's fine."
He said it the way the night outside looked. Flat, undisturbed. He leaned down, picked up the coat that had slid off me at some point, folded it once, set it aside.
I sat rigid, not sure where to put my hands, not sure whether another apology would make things better or worse.
Dominic's voice came from the front seat.
"We're here."
I turned to the window.
The headlights cut a path across the ground, trees pressing close on both sides. The car slowed. We passed through an iron gate.
We stopped in front of a building. I couldn't make out the full shape of it — just the outline of a covered entrance, and the small amber circle cast by a porch light.
It was quiet. The kind of quiet that had nothing to do with Charleston — no harbor, no wind off the water, no sound of an entire city holding its breath.
Gabriel got out first. Then he came around to my side, opened the door, and waited.
I picked up Maple's carrier and stepped out. The night air hit me — cooler than I'd expected, carrying pine and damp earth, nothing like the salt that had followed me my whole life.
I stood at the edge of the porch light and looked up at the building in front of me.
I didn't know what this place was called. I didn't know how long I'd be here. I didn't know what my life was going to look like starting tomorrow.
I just knew I was very far from home.
I stood on the porch and didn't move.
The house was too large to take in all at once, its edges dissolving into tree line and darkness on both sides. Just the light: a warm amber circle cast over stone steps and a wide wooden porch, and Gabriel already moving toward it like he'd done this a thousand times.
I didn't follow.
As long as I'm still standing out here, I haven't actually arrived yet.
I knew it was stupid. I stood there anyway, Maple's carrier pressed against my chest, and gave myself an extra ten seconds.
Gabriel had reached the top of the steps. He noticed I hadn't followed and turned around.
"Audrey."
No impatience in it. Just a statement of fact — we were still outside.
I tightened my grip on the carrier and walked up.
The door opened before Gabriel touched it.
A woman stood in the entrance — early fifties, gray hair cut short, wearing a cardigan and dark slacks. She gave him a brief, respectful nod, then turned her attention to me.
"Patricia Brennan," Gabriel said. "She manages the house."
Patricia nodded once. "You can call me Patricia." Her voice was low and even. "Your room is ready. If anything needs adjusting, just let me know."
She reached toward the carrier.
I pulled it closer before I'd made a conscious decision to.
Patricia's hand stopped. She didn't look offended. She simply drew it back and turned toward my suitcase instead. "I'll take this, then."
Gabriel handed it to her without a word.
Patricia led me upstairs and down a hallway that turned out to be longer than it looked from below. Several closed doors on either side — I didn't know what was behind any of them. At the far end, she pushed one open and stepped back.
I walked in and stopped just past the threshold.
Bigger than my room in Charleston. A sitting area near the window — sofa, low table, reading lamp — and a desk against the wall, and beyond that, a door Patricia said led to the bathroom. Another door beside the closet. The window at the far end was floor-to-ceiling glass, and outside it was just black: trees, no sky visible, no horizon.
Everything in the room was new. Or looked it. The kind of space prepared carefully for a guest who might stay a while.
But nothing in it belonged to me.
I set the carrier down and unlatched it.
Maple didn't come out. She'd pressed herself flat against the back wall, ears pinned, eyes wide.
I crouched and reached in. My fingertips touched her head. She flinched first, then leaned into it for half a second, then pulled back.
"She'll adjust," Gabriel said from behind me.
I didn't look up. "She doesn't like unfamiliar places."
I wasn't only talking about the cat.
He didn't answer.
Patricia stepped out and came back with a tray — bread, soup, a glass of water. She set it on the desk without ceremony.
"I wasn't sure what you'd want," she said. "I kept it light. If you need anything else, the intercom by the door connects to the main line."
I nodded.
She looked at me for a moment longer, then left.
Gabriel stayed.
He stood near the window, hands in his pockets, like he was deciding whether to say something or simply leave me to it. I waited.
"Patricia is downstairs tonight," he said finally. "Security handles the perimeter. Your door locks from the inside. If you need anything tonight, contact Patricia."
I nodded again.
"A doctor will come tomorrow morning. Nine o'clock." He continued.
I looked up. "I'm not sick."
"It's an evaluation."
"I don't want one."
He was quiet for a beat. Then: "We'll talk about it tomorrow."
Not a yes. Not a no. Just a delay — and the decision itself felt like it had already been made, somewhere I hadn't been consulted.
His phone buzzed.
He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, expression unchanged, but his posture shifted. He moved toward the window and took the call.
I wasn't trying to listen, but a few words reached me anyway — federal office, field report, evidence that needed immediate confirmation.
He hung up and turned back.
"Eat something." A brief pause. "Get some rest."
He's leaving.
I stood up.
He was already moving toward the door. Phone going back into his pocket.
I followed.
Down the hallway, down the stairs, into the entryway — Dominic was waiting there with a folder and car keys.
Gabriel took the folder, said something low, turned toward the door.
I stepped forward.
My foot came down harder than I'd intended. The sound carried in the quiet of the entryway.
He stopped. Turned.
"Something wrong?"
My hand was already halfway up. But I stopped before I reached him.
My fingers curled back. I put my hand behind me, like I could hide the fact that I'd almost reached out at all.
I shook my head. "Nothing."
He held my gaze for one more second.
Then he walked out.
The door closed.
The lock clicked.
Headlights swept across the window glass, a brief arc of light across the wall, swallowed quickly by the trees.
I stood there until I couldn't hear the engine anymore.
