"You need to breathe, Reginald," Francis's mother said, watching him pace the length of the hospital waiting room with an energy that seemed considerably disproportionate given he wasn't the one actually in labor. "Pacing won't make this go any faster.""I'm aware," Reginald said, though he made no move to actually stop, something anxious and overjoyed tangled together in his expression. "I simply don't know what else to do with myself. I missed being present for Francis's entire childhood. I don't intend to miss this too, even if all I'm actually doing right now is wearing a groove into the floor."Eliza glanced up from her own seat, something amused crossing her face despite her own visible nerves. "For what it's worth, I don't think anyone in this room is handling the waiting with particularly more grace than you are.""Speak for yourself," Gerald said, though his own leg bounced with visible anxiety despite his attempt at composure. "I've been considerably calm this entire time."

"Mr. Cole, I assure you, there's been a considerable misunderstanding," the manager said quickly, shooting a sharp glance toward the salesman that carried more warning than his measured tone let on. "Please, allow me to handle the purchase personally. Whatever you'd like, financing arrangements, delivery timeline, anything at all.""I'd actually prefer to continue working with him," Francis said, nodding toward the salesman, whose face had gone considerably paler in the last thirty seconds than it had been through the entire preceding conversation. "He was very thorough about explaining the financing options. I'd hate to interrupt such dedicated customer service."The manager hesitated, clearly torn between deference to Francis's request and visible desire to personally smooth over whatever damage the interaction had already caused. "Of course, sir, if that's your preference. Though I should mention, given your position, you may not be aware that Skyward Technology holds a controlling

"This is it," Chelsy said, standing in the overgrown garden of the fifth property they'd toured that weekend, something certain and delighted in her voice as she took in the modest stone farmhouse, the surrounding acreage, the quiet distance from the nearest neighbor. "I know we've only seen five houses, but I already know this is the one."Francis walked the perimeter slowly, something equally drawn to the property's understated charm, considerably more modest than anything either of them technically needed given their combined resources, though the simplicity itself felt like precisely the point. "I agree," he said. "It feels considerably more like an actual home than anywhere either of us has lived this past year."The realtor, trailing a respectful distance behind them, cleared her throat gently. "I should mention, before you get too attached, there's a small complication with the title. The property's held in a family trust, and one of the beneficiaries hasn't yet signed off on t

Francis crouched in front of the steel plate and did not touch it. Six digits, stamped deep into the metal, the edges still sharp. 408217. He had worn that number across his chest for three years. He had answered to it at six every morning and nine every night, shouting it back at guards who never looked up from their clipboards. Some nights he’d said it in his sleep. Chelsy had told him that afterward, very gently, like she was handing him something breakable. “Tell me again it’s a coincidence,” Reginald said. “It isn’t.” “No.” Reginald lowered himself beside him, knees cracking, and ran the flashlight along the edge of the plate. “I’ve spent my life around old stone, so listen. This foundation is older than the house. Hand-cut limestone, laid dry. Somebody took a grinder to it, four months ago, maybe less. See how the cut face hasn’t gone gray yet? Then they bolted this on and hung a lock with the price sticker still on it.” Francis looked. The sticker was there, a little white

Francis put the phone on speaker and set it on the desk between them.He wanted Chelsy to hear every word. He wanted Reginald to hear it too. There had been enough secrets in this family to fill a cell block.“Who is this?” he said.“Someone who has been very patient.” The voice was male, or made to sound male, with the odd flatness of a recording played through a good speaker. Unhurried. Pleasant, almost. “You’ll forgive the filter. Not for your sake. Mine. I’d prefer you not remember my voice yet.”“Yet,” Chelsy repeated softly.“Mrs. Chelsy. Good evening. You look well, considering the hour.” The camera in the corner blinked its green eye. “Please don’t take that as a threat. It’s simply an observation. I’ve been admiring your garden.”Chelsy’s hand went to her mouth. Francis felt her tremble through his arm, and something in him went very cold and very still.“Say her name again,” he said, “and I will take this barn apart board by board.”“There it is.” The voice sounded pleased.