By the time they made it upstairs, the warmth from dinner had faded into something restless.
Abby closed her bedroom door and leaned against it for a second, listening to the muted sounds of dishes clinking downstairs. The house felt normal. Safe.
Too safe.
Joe watched her from the middle of the room, his eyes tracking every shift in her expression. He always seemed to know when something was working under her skin.
She crossed to the bed and sat carefully, mindful of her shoulder. The stitches pulled slightly, a sharp reminder that isolation and revoked standing hadn’t stopped a knife from touching her throat.
“They’re just going to let him sit there,” she said quietly.
Joe moved closer. “Connor.”
She nodded. “He orchestrates half of this from behind the scenes. Plants people in po
