“Did it?”
“Not especially.”
He laughed, and his expression eased.
The food arrived fifteen minutes later in sealed containers from a nearby coastal grill. Rafi carried it in after the exterior agent checked the delivery. He set my overnight bag and locked gear case beside the front door, then placed fish tacos, a grilled chicken bowl, chips, salsa, and electrolyte drinks across the kitchenette counter.
“Eat while it’s warm,” he said. “I’m going back to the Beacon to work the repost chain and the patio timeline.”
“Call me if the risk changes.”
“You’ll be the first call.”
Rafi turned to Shane. “The cottage stays locked. Any movement goes through Cassidy until relief takes over.”
Shane nodded. “I understand.”
Rafi left.
For the first time since the envelope appeared, the cottage went quiet.
We weren’t private. We had an agent outside, another covering the path, and more SBS staff a call away.
Still, the silence changed the room.
I sat at the small table and opened the chicken bowl. Shane took the chair across from me with two fish tacos and most of the chips.
“You ordered enough food for four people at breakfast,” I said. “How are you hungry again?”
“I danced for thirty-five minutes.”
“You bargained for thirty-eight.”
“I’m recovering from the disappointment.”
I ate a bite of grilled chicken while he squeezed lime across his tacos.
Shane glanced toward the curtained patio doors. “I’m sorry.”
I lowered my fork. “For what?”
“For walking toward the beach yesterday. For thinking the photograph was something I could ignore. For making you explain the danger before I treated it like danger.”
“You followed directions when I explained the bottleneck.”
“I shouldn’t need a child trapped near a restaurant door before I understand that people around me can get hurt.”
“You’ve changed your behavior.”
“That doesn’t erase the first part.”
“No. It means I don’t have to keep fighting the same argument.”
His fingers rested against the taco wrapper. “You expected me to fight the move.”
“I expected questions.”
“I had questions.”