Chapter Six: The Lake House Rules
The Calloway lake house sat on forty private acres two hours north of Sterling Bay, a low, timber-framed building that had always felt to Wren like the one place her family owned that wasn't trying to prove anything to anyone, and she had not set foot in it since the summer before her mother's limp had made the dock's uneven steps too risky to bother with.
It was strange, she thought, standing in the wide front room with her bags still by the door, to arrive there now surrounded by exactly the kind of careful, controlled danger the house had always felt too peaceful to hold.
"Rules," Kai said, setting his own bag down with the brisk efficiency of a boy determined not to think too hard about what it meant that they were about to share a roof for the rest of the week. "You don't leave the main house without telling me first, even to walk to the dock. Curtains stay drawn after dark on the lake side. And if anything feels wrong, anything at all, you come find me before you decide whether it's worth mentioning."
"Anything else, Agent Hartley?"
"Don't call me that." The corner of his mouth twitched despite himself. "It makes me sound like I carry a badge."
"Don't you?"
"I carry a clipboard and an unreasonable amount of caffeine," Kai said, and Wren laughed before she could stop herself, the sound surprising them both in a house that had, until that moment, felt entirely too serious for laughing.
"What's rule four?"
"There is no rule four. I stopped at three because I didn't want to sound like I was reading you a syllabus."
"You could have made rule four something useful. Like, no interrupting Wren while she's winning an argument."
"That would violate rule one through three simultaneously," Kai said. "I'm not doing that to myself in the first ten minutes."
"Scared?"
"Extremely," he said, deadpan, and it took her a full second to realize he was joking, another full second to realize how much she liked it when he did.
*
The two other agents her father had assigned to rotate the property's perimeter kept mostly out of sight, which left Wren and Kai, for the first time since the study five days earlier, with something dangerously close to ordinary time together. They cooked dinner in the lake house's outdated kitchen on the second night, an unglamorous, mostly successful attempt at pasta that ended with flour on Kai's sleeve and Wren laughing hard enough that she had to sit down at the little kitchen table to recover.
"You're better at this than I expected," she told him, once they'd eaten and the dishes sat soaking in a sink that hadn't been used properly in years.
"Better at cooking, or better at not being the world's most boring bodyguard?"
"Both, apparently."
"My mom taught me to cook before she taught me to shoot," Kai said. "Priorities."
"You know how to shoot?"
"I know how to do a lot of things I hope I never have to use on this job." Something quieter crossed his face, gone before she could name it, and he changed the subject with the kind of practiced ease she was starting to recognize as a shield rather than genuine deflection. "Your dad called earlier. Wants a full report tomorrow morning."
"Of course he does."
"He's scared, Wren. That's all any of this is. A scared father who doesn't know how to say it directly, so he says lockdown and full detail rotation instead."
"You're very generous toward a man who threatened your job over breakfast."
"I understand him," Kai said simply. "I'd do the same thing in his position. Probably worse."
"You say that a lot. That you'd do worse. Is that actually true, or is it just something you say to make other people feel better about their own mistakes?"
"Bit of both," Kai admitted. "Mostly true, though. I don't have a lot of patience for my own decisions when I look back on them. I have infinite patience for everyone else's."
"That seems exhausting."
"It is. I'm working on it." He dried the last plate with more focus than the task required. "Slowly. Very slowly. Ask me again in ten years."
"I intend to."
The words were out before she'd thought them through, light and easy and entirely too honest for a kitchen that still smelled like burnt garlic, and Kai went still for just a second, plate in hand, before he recovered enough to raise an eyebrow at her instead of answering directly.
"Ten years is a long commitment for someone who called me Agent Hartley an hour ago."
"I contain multitudes," Wren said, and fled to the sink before he could see exactly how much she meant it.
*
It was on the third night, with the lake gone black and silver under a moon just past full, that Wren couldn't sleep and found herself out on the dock despite every rule Kai had laid out on their first evening there, the old wooden boards cool under her bare feet, the water lapping in a rhythm that had always, since childhood, done more to calm her than anything a doctor had ever prescribed.
She heard him before she saw him, his footsteps deliberately unhurried on the gravel path behind her, no urgency in them at all, which told her he'd clocked exactly where she was the moment she left the house and had simply chosen not to make a production of retrieving her.
"You broke rule one," he said, settling down onto the dock beside her without being asked, close enough now that their shoulders nearly touched.
"I needed the water. I've never been able to sleep without it, out here."
"I know. Your file mentions it." At her look, he added, "Not in a creepy way. Your father's briefing notes. He said the lake calms you down more than anything else he's tried."
"There's a file."
"There's always a file. Yours is thicker than most. Favorite foods, allergy history, the fact that you once climbed onto this exact roof at age nine and refused to come down until your mother promised you a dog." His mouth curved slightly. "You never got the dog, for the record. I checked."
"That's a genuine injustice. I want that noted somewhere official."
"I'll add it to my own list," Kai said. "Right under careful and scared."
"He actually said that?"
"He actually said that," Kai confirmed, and something about hearing it secondhand, filtered through a stranger's careful, professional notes, made her chest ache in a way she hadn't expected.
They sat in silence for a while after that, the kind that didn't need filling, and it was Wren, finally, who reached over and laced her fingers through his without quite deciding to do it first, the way her hand had simply moved before her better judgment caught up to stop it.
Kai went very still.
"Wren."
"I know," she said, echoing his words from the roof five nights before, her voice steadier than she felt. "Me too. That's exactly the problem."
"You're supposed to talk me out of this. That's usually your job in these conversations."
"I gave up that job around the time you brought me apple juice in a fancy glass and called it a compliment to yourself."
"That was one time."
"It was formative," Wren said, and felt him laugh, quiet and surprised, more than heard it.
He didn't pull away. His fingers, after a moment, closed around hers, careful and deliberate, like he was making a decision he already knew he'd have to account for later, and for a long, suspended stretch of time neither of them said anything at all, the lake moving quiet and silver in front of them, his hand warm and certain around hers, the whole complicated danger of the last week reduced, for once, to something almost peaceful.
It was the sound of gravel shifting, further off along the shore path where no agent was supposed to be walking that night, that broke it.
Kai was on his feet before Wren had fully processed the sound, his hand leaving hers so fast the absence of it felt like its own kind of cold, every trace of the boy on the dock replaced instantly by the version of him that scanned tree lines and cataloged exits.
"Stay low," he said, already moving toward the tree line, his voice dropped to something flat and urgent. "Get back to the house. Now."
"Kai, what is it?"
"Someone's out there who isn't one of ours." He didn't look back at her, his eyes fixed on a shape at the edge of the property she could barely make out herself, a figure that stood for one long moment at the tree line as if it wanted to be seen, before turning and vanishing into the dark. "And I think," Kai said, low, furious with himself in a way she'd never heard from him before, "I just let my guard down long enough for him to prove it."