June
Silver Pine looks exactly the same.
The gates. The gravel drive. The packhouse rising up ahead like it always has—solid, familiar, and suddenly much smaller than it felt when I lived here.
The car hasn't even pulled up to the front walk when I see them. Grant Sutton and his father are already waiting.
They stand near the front steps, positioned like they expected us. Victor’s hands are clasped behind his back, posture relaxed but alert. Grant leans against one of the stone columns, arms crossed, expression cool and faintly amused.
My stomach tightens as I step out of the vehicle. Someone must have spotted us the moment we crossed the border.
Ronan gets out and stands beside me, calm and unhurried. His presence at my side, one hand on my lower back, is steady, deliberate.
He d
