Page 25 of Match Made In Growl

"Criss?" Kieran's voice from the hallway.

"Study."

Kieran appeared in the doorway, a paper bag from the market in one hand and his daughter balanced on his opposite hip. Sage had her mother's copper hair and her father's hazel eyes, and she immediately reached for Criss with the grabby hands of a toddler who'd decided her cousin was her favorite jungle gym.

"Uncle Criss," she announced, which wasn't his title but was close enough that correcting her felt pointless.

He took her from Kieran and settled her on his knee, where she immediately started pulling at the buttons on his shirt. "Hey, little monster."

Kieran's eyes moved to the ledgers spread across the desk and his expression tightened. "What are you doing?"

"Reading." Criss kept his voice light. "Figured I'd brush up on the family tree. Fascinating stuff. Really riveting genealogy."

Kieran set the market bag on the floor and stepped into the study, his gaze moving across the open ledgers with the careful attention of a man who knew exactly what was in them. "Find anything interesting?"

"Sixteen years of nothing. Between 1927 and 1943, this family apparently didn't exist." Criss bounced Sage on his knee, her giggles filling the small room. "Care to explain that?"

Kieran was quiet for a moment. "I noticed the gaps years ago. Asked Miriam about it. She said some periods of pride history were sealed by the elders for the community's protection."

"Sealed or erased?"

"She didn't elaborate."

"And you didn't push?"

"I had other things to worry about." Kieran's tone was even, but there was a boundary in it, a line drawn. "The records are old, Criss. Whatever happened in that period, it was resolved before either of us was born."

"Resolved, or buried?"

Sage grabbed Criss's nose. He gently redirected her hand and met Kieran's eyes over her copper curls. His cousin's expression was unreadable, which from Kieran meant it was very readable if you knew where to look. He wasn't surprised by what Criss had found. He was surprised that Criss had gone looking.

"Leave it alone," Kieran said.

"Yeah," Criss said, lifting Sage onto his shoulders where she grabbed fistfuls of his golden-brown hair and shrieked with delight. "Maybe."

He carried her to the kitchen for lunch and left the ledgers open on the desk, the gap between 1927 and 1943 staring at the ceiling like a wound that had been stitched closed but never healed.

He wasn't going to leave it alone. He already knew that, especially now that Kerian wanted him to. Whatever was missing seemed to be important enough to keep quiet. The question was what was it?

15

STEPHANIE

Steph was only into her first week in Hollow Oak. After the ward destabilization and the tremors at the site, she'd filed a detailed report with Tom Brewster's office, documenting the energy spikes, the structural damage, and the new cavity exposed in the ridge face. Standard protocol. She'd expected questions, maybe a site visit from Emmett's office, but the response had been reassuring. Tom had reviewed her findings, confirmed her access was still active, and told her to proceed with caution at the beginning of the week. No red flags. No hesitation. Business as usual.

That was four days ago. Now nothing was usual.

When she stopped by the Gazette building Monday morning to confirm her continued access before heading to the site, Tom's desk was empty and a clerk she didn't recognize told her the permit was "under review."

"Under review for what?" Steph asked. "I spoke to Tom not even a week ago. Everything was cleared."

The clerk, a young woman with nervous hands and a name tag that read Petra, shuffled papers without meeting her eyes. "There's been a request from the council's historical preservation committee. Standard procedure for sites with active magical signatures."

"That request didn't exist four days ago."

"The committee meets irregularly. I'm sure it'll be resolved soon."

Steph went to the learning center, where Nora confirmed the flag but couldn't tell her where it originated. "The request came through internal channels," Nora said, glasses perched on the bridge of her nose and her mouth set in a line that said she had opinions she wasn't sharing. "I'd give it a day or two."