“Dismissed from my own garage,” he said.

“Try appealing.”

“She said I needed practice.”

We ate in the small repair bay behind his office. Rain tapped the high windows. An engine stood dismantled on the bench, its parts arranged with a patience Silas could no longer seem to find.

He took two bites and put his sandwich down.

“I hate that he was good to us sometimes.”

I sat beside him on the bench seat.

“Grant taught Sophie to swim.”

Silas looked at me sharply.

“She was frightened to put her face underwater. He made her laugh until she did it. I have a video.”

“Evelyn.”

“I kept using that afternoon to explain away the others.”

He looked down at his hands.

“You don't have to throw away the bicycle to believe your mother,” I said. “But your father being kind sometimes doesn't answer what he did to her.”

His knee pressed against mine.

“Maeve needs him to have been entirely cruel.”

“Today, maybe.”

“And I need one thing he told me to have been true.”

I covered his hand.

For a while we listened to the rain. Then he turned his palm beneath mine and threaded our fingers together.

“I wanted to ask you to stay last night.”

“You could have.”

“Your first night divorced. I didn't want it to become another man's emergency.”

That hurt more than I expected.

“Silas, you can want something from me.”

His gaze lifted.

“I'm not made of glass because Grant broke things.”

“I know.”

“Then ask.”

He set our joined hands on his thigh.

“Stay with me tonight.”

My pulse changed at the words. His eyes dropped briefly to my mouth, and I saw how carefully he had been avoiding looking there.

“After Sophie's asleep,” I said.

He leaned closer. “I'll wait.”

I kissed him before he could make waiting sound noble.

His mouth was warm, faintly salty from lunch. For a moment he barely moved. Then his free hand settled at my waist and pulled me close enough that my knee slid over his thigh.

The breath he let out against my cheek shook.

I held his face.

“You don't have to be fine first.”

His forehead rested against mine. I felt his fingers tighten in my sweater, loosen, then settle again.

When he kissed me back, there was nothing tentative about it. I gripped his collar, surprised by the sudden force of wanting him, by how much I wanted him to know it. He shifted me onto his lap, keeping one hand beneath my knee so I wouldn't strike the bench.

A spanner fell behind us.

Neither of us moved to pick it up.

My phone began vibrating against his leg.

“Throw it away,” he murmured.

“Financially irresponsible.”

“I'll buy you another.”

I laughed against his mouth, then checked the screen.

Owen.

Silas helped me stand, but kept hold of my hand while I answered.

“Vale's workshop,” Owen said. “It's on the old transport invoice. V-A-L-E was abbreviated as a business name, not a destination code. I cross-checked the address against historic business listings.”

He had found a motorcycle repair shop west of the mountains. Miriam Vale had registered it decades ago. The current public listing showed the same address and a different proprietor.

“Doesn't establish a shelter,” he added. “But the business still exists.”

I asked him to send the listing to Briar first. A public shop was one thing; exposing a refuge was another.

Twenty minutes later, with Briar listening, I called its public number from her office line.

A woman answered over the sound of an impact wrench.

“Vale Repairs.”

“My name is Evelyn Reed. We're trying to identify a key Miriam Vale may have owned. We found it with a recording made by Celene Blackwood.”

The wrench stopped.

“Where did you get that name?”

“Winter Health.”

“Don't give me your address.”

Silas reached for a pen.

“We're not asking you to disclose anyone's location,” I said. “There's gray wool tied to the key. We'd like to arrange a safe way to verify what we found.”

A long silence.

“Send a photograph of the key to this business number. Nothing else. I'll call back if it matches.”

“Can you tell us whether Celene—”

“No.”

Silas stopped writing.

The woman's voice softened, barely.

“Tell her boy not to ride here wearing Blackwood colors.”

He leaned toward the speaker.

“Why?”

“Because the women at this address remember who brought them back.”