The Official Narrative: K.C.
The morning sun was too bright. It spilled across the bungalow’s hardwood floors with an unapologetic cheerfulness that felt like a personal insult to the silver-burn still thrumming under the fresh bandages on my shoulder. I sat at the small breakfast table, my hand wrapped around a mug of coffee I wasn’t drinking. Across from me, Tess was picking at a piece of toast, her eyes still shadowed, but her posture straighter than it had been in days. Outside, the world was aggressively normal. A lawn mower hummed three houses down while the mail truck rattled past. To the neighbors, we were just a couple enjoying a slow morning. They had no idea that Finn was currently crouched in the crawlspace checking the joists, or that Gabe was positioned behind the garden shed with a rifle. The heav
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