Chapter 1: False Front
It started with footsteps.
Fast, uneven, kicking up gravel in a way that made my breath catch in my throat. I was already halfway to the door before Juniper moved, her eyes wide but her hands steady. She dropped low by an instinct she’d refined over the past few days, crouching near the window. No words—just the quiet tension of people who had been hunted before.
I motioned her back with one hand. She didn’t argue.
The boys were on the couch, watching an old animated movie with the volume low, a plate of cookies between them. Max giggled at something on the screen. Luke kicked his legs rhythmically against the cushions.
Emily was in the kitchen, humming to herself, elbows deep in cookie dough. The oven was on, cycling through the preheating stage. The air smelled like cinnamon and vanilla, like it was just another Thursday.
Juniper and I looked like we’d crawled out of a warzone—and we had. Dirt smeared our clothes, and dried blood clung to her arm from an old cut that hadn’t had more than a cursory rinse. We hadn’t showered. Hadn’t had the time.
I reached the door. Paused. Listened.
Then a voice. Sharp. Too loud for the time of day.
“Hey! Open up! We saw movement inside.”
I cracked the door just an inch and saw them: three men in patchy tactical gear, one with a badge duct-taped to his chest and another carrying a clipboard like it meant something.
Neighborhood Watch.
The guy in front—Brent, ex-realtor, full-time nuisance—stepped closer and flashed a smile that never touched his eyes. “Just checking in, Henry. Heard something out here. Gotta be vigilant.”
I opened the door wider, just enough to keep it from looking suspicious. I stood square in the frame, blocking any view inside. “You scared the hell out of us.”
“Sorry 'bout that. We're just making sure the block's secure. We’ve got families counting on us. You get it.”
Behind him, one of the others peered over my shoulder. “Who’s that girl we saw you with?”
“My niece,” I said without missing a beat. “Just getting her settled. Her parents didn’t make it. Hard adjustment.”
Juniper, hiding just out of view in the hallway, didn’t breathe. She looked like hell—like any other kid might after stumbling through chaos. Just tired, scraped up, and trying to keep it together.
“Understandable,” Brent said, nodding too eagerly. “Listen, we’ve got an updated rotation coming out. Every able body’s gotta contribute. We’ll swing back later with the list.”
I gave a stiff nod. “Sure. I’ll take a look. You seen any drones lately?”
“Nothing since a cluster hit the southern stretch,” Brent said. “That one tagged the Marshalls’ place.”
Brent gave a shrug like it was just weather talk. “Resistance has been doing their best to keep 'em at bay. Shot a few down last week. Still, some sneak through. Picked off the Hargroves, you remember them?”
I nodded slowly. “Yeah. They lived two streets down.”
“Total mess,” said the clipboard guy. “But between you and me? Hargroves never followed the rules. Left their trash bins out overnight. HOA gave 'em warnings for years. Kinda poetic, in a way.”
I stared at him, waiting for a laugh that never came. “That’s… dark.”
“We’re in dark times,” he said, completely serious.
“Right.”
“Anyway, we’re keeping a lookout. We’ve been putting together drone spotters on the roof, too. If you’ve got binoculars, lend them to the cause.”
“I’ll check what I’ve got,” I lied again.
Brent gave one last look toward the house, then turned. The three of them shuffled back toward the corner, still talking like men who thought they were soldiers.
I closed the door, slow and soft.
Juniper emerged. “They’re a hoot.”
“Yeah. Real sharp unit.”
She glanced toward the boys on the couch. Max had stretched out and started humming along with the cartoon's music. Luke was absentmindedly chewing a corner of his blanket.
“We need to go,” she said quietly.
I nodded. “Tonight.”
She didn’t argue. She didn’t smile either. But something in her eyes relaxed—like trust, but not quite. Trust would take longer. Maybe forever.
From the kitchen, the oven dinged.
Emily began to hum again, wiping flour from her hands onto her apron, as if the world outside the window didn’t exist.
And for just a second, I wished the men at the door had been the real threat. Because what waited inside, wrapped in denial and fragility, was a harder enemy to outrun.
Sale
