Page 89 of At First Spark
“No,” he agrees. “It’s not. But it’s true.”
“I left because I had to.”
“I know.” His voice softens around those two words. “And I’m not saying you were wrong. I’m saying I watched what it cost you.”
Chapter Sixteen – Holt
I know something’s wrong before I even step inside. It’s not loud. There’s no shouting, no sharp crack of something breaking, no raised voices carrying through the open doorway to warn me off before I cross the threshold.
It’s quieter than that. The kind of wrong that settles into a space and waits.
I feel it in the way the air shifts as I step through the front door, in the way the light coming through the windows seems sharper than it should be, catching on dust that still hangs in the air from the morning’s work. The inn smells like old wood and heat and something faintly charred that hasn’t quite worked its way out of the structure yet.
And underneath it—tension.
I stop just inside the doorway, taking it in.
Lark stands near the front table, her notebook open in front of her but untouched, one hand braced against the edge like she anchored herself there and hasn’t moved since. Her shoulders are squared, her posture tight in a way that tells me she’s been holding something in place for longer than she should have had to.
Nolan stands a few feet away. Too close. Not close enough to touch, but close enough to matter.
They both turn when they hear me. And just like that, guilt floods their eyes.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
My voice stays level. It takes all the effort I can afford.
Lark opens her mouth, but doesn’t get the chance to answer.
“She’s staying at your place.”
Nolan says it like a fact he’s been turning over too many times. Like evidence he hasn’t decided what to do with.
My gaze moves to Lark. Hers meets mine immediately. She doesn’t look away.
“Yeah,” I say.
Nolan shifts slightly. Not forward. Not back. Holding ground.
“Is she safe there?”
The question hits wrong because part of me knows it isn’t really about locks or distance or whether my house sits far enough off the road.
“Yes,” I say.
“Good.”
That answer surprises me enough that I don’t respond right away.
Nolan’s mouth presses into a thin line. “That doesn’t mean I like it.”
“Didn’t ask you to.”
His gaze hardens. “No. You didn’t.”
The air tightens between us.
“This isn’t about you,” he says.
