Chapter 2

Delgado's office smelled like burnt coffee and old paperwork. Reagan sat across from him with both hands wrapped around a cup she had no intention of drinking, her knuckles pale, her eyes gritty from a night spent dozing in a hospital chair instead of sleeping.

"I'm going to be straight with you, Ms. Hale." Delgado had the kind of face that had delivered bad news for years and never quite gotten comfortable with it. "This wasn't electrical. We found accelerant at two separate points of origin. Someone set that fire on purpose."

Reagan's mouth went dry. "On purpose. Someone did this to my mother on purpose."

"That's what the evidence tells us."

"Why would anyone want to hurt her? She restores furniture, Detective. Her customers send her Christmas cards."

Delgado glanced down at his notes, then back at her, and something in the pause told her he was choosing his next words carefully. "Has your mother had any conflicts recently? Business disputes, unpaid debts, anyone who might have a reason to target her specifically?"

"No. Nothing." She searched her memory anyway, turning over the last few months, and came up with nothing but a hollow feeling settling into her chest. "What did you find that's making you ask me this?"

"We're still building the case." He closed the folder, and the gesture felt final, like a door shutting before she was ready. "I'll be in touch as we learn more. In the meantime, if anything seems off, strangers near the property, questions about your mother's business, call me directly."

She left his office with more questions than she'd walked in with, and no clear place to put any of them.

Silas showed up at her apartment four hours later, hair still damp from a shower he'd clearly rushed through, the shadows under his eyes suggesting he hadn't slept much either.

"You can't just show up here," she said, though she made no move to close the door.

"Delgado's not telling you everything." He said it plainly, without preamble, the way he'd always cut straight to what mattered instead of easing into it. "There've been other fires in town lately, same pattern, and it's gone quiet fast every time."

"And you know this how?"

"Because I pay attention to things that move through this town without explanation." His voice dropped, steady and certain. "Someone's testing something, Reagan. I don't know what yet. I'm not going to wait around to find out the hard way, not after what happened to your mother."

"This isn't yours to solve."

"She almost died last night." His eyes didn't waver. "It became mine the second I smelled the smoke."

She wanted to argue and found, infuriatingly, that she had nothing left to argue with. That had always been his particular talent, saying the one true thing at the exact moment she needed to stay angry instead.

"Fine. Come in." She stepped aside. "This doesn't mean anything."

"Never said it did."

They sat at her kitchen table with a legal pad between them, and Silas talked while he wrote: unfamiliar cars parked near the edge of town, new faces asking questions at local shops that had no reason to be curious, a feeling he couldn't quite shake that something was circling closer than it should.

"You think this connects to your club," Reagan said, watching his hands instead of the page.

"I think it's a strange coincidence that your mother's shop burns down right when new faces start showing up." He looked up, and the weight in his expression pulled something tight behind her ribs. "I'd rather be wrong for being careful than right for doing nothing."

"My mother has nothing to do with any of that world."

"No. But you did, once." He held her gaze. "People looking to make a move against us don't always come through the front door."

Cold settled low in her stomach. "You think someone's using me to get to you."

"I think I'm not willing to bet your mother's life on the chance that I'm not."

The front door opened before she could respond. Grant stepped in, keys still in his hand, stopping short at the sight of Silas seated at her table like he had every right to be there.

"What's going on?" Grant's voice stayed even, almost pleasant, though something underneath it had pulled tight.

"Silas thinks the fire might be connected to something bigger," Reagan said. "He's helping me look into it."

"Is he." Grant set his keys down slowly and let his gaze travel over Silas, less curious than measuring. "That's generous of him. Considering."

"Considering what," Silas said, his voice going flat in a way she hadn't heard from him in ten years, a warning more than a question.

"Considering the two of you have history." Grant's smile stayed easy, the same one that had made her feel safe for two years and now, for the first time, made her skin prickle instead. "Riding in to save the one who got away. It's almost romantic."

"Grant." Her voice came out sharper than she meant it to.

Silas rose from his chair without hurry, and the air in the room seemed to cool by several degrees. "I'm not here because of history. I'm here because a woman nearly died in a fire that wasn't an accident, and I'd do the same for anyone in this town. If that's a problem for you, that's yours to sort out."

He gathered the legal pad, gave Reagan a single nod, and let himself out. The door clicked shut, and the quiet that followed felt heavier than it should have.

"You don't need him." Grant settled into the chair Silas had left, reaching across the table for her hand. "Whatever this turns out to be, we'll handle it. You have me."

Reagan looked down at his hand covering hers, warm and familiar, and for the first time in two years it didn't feel like safety.

It felt like something she couldn't name yet, and it sat in her chest for the rest of the night, long after Grant had gone quiet beside her, while she stared at the ceiling and waited for an answer that didn't come.