I froze by the window while Jaxon checked the door. I was still bracing myself to see my mother—perfectly pressed coat, biting comments, eyes that knew too much. But when Jaxon peered through the peephole, his shoulders eased just a little.
He opened it cautiously.
“Oh. Hi, sorry to bother,” said a voice I didn’t recognize. A man. Friendly tone, older. “Didn’t mean to spook you.”
Jaxon opened the door wider.
The guy on the porch was probably in his sixties, wearing a puffer jacket, a knit beanie, and holding a thermos in one hand. His scent was faint, Beta. Not a threat.
“Hey, uh… do I know you?” Jaxon asked, already half-smiling.
The man chuckled. “Probably not. Name’s Allen. I live up the ridge. Got a place over there behind the firs. Noticed lights on here for the first time in ye
